


Against All Better Judgement

by collegespock



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Regency, But if Pride and Prejudice fucked even harder, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Generous liberties taken with source materials, Happy Ending, I swear, M/M, References to Illness, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Stargazing, lots of drinking and smoking, pride and prejudice au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:15:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 106,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26065603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collegespock/pseuds/collegespock
Summary: A Regency-era love story told through passing glances, unspoken words, and whatever else happens behind closed doors.(Pride and Prejudice!AU)
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 179
Kudos: 78





	1. The Latest Gossip

_April 1813_

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a young lady in possession of little fortune, must be in want of a good time. 

For this purpose, twenty-year-old Mako Mori, of the Bridewater estate in the sleepy England town of Sladehall End, had her tutor, Newton Geiszler, who had perhaps not been hired on by her father for this intent, but had nonetheless taken to it quickly when he had begun his employment nine years prior. 

Now, as the day began to wane over the Bridewater house and their daily studies long finished, Newt leaned against the ancient chestnut tree that grew by the old barn, and looked towards the west, where the spring sun hazily fell towards the horizon. Mako sat on one of the tree’s low-hanging branches, feet dangling as she gently treaded the air. The spot, beautiful in and of itself, was also ideal for observing the road that led towards the house, as they now carefully watched for any approaching carriages that might contain Marshal Pentecost and put an end to their fun. 

“Will you reach in the tree for me and hand me the cigarettes?” asked Newt, referring to the old tawny owl hole that had long been abandoned and more recently used as the ideal hiding spot for most of his and Mako’s paraphernalia. 

Mako obliged, angling herself towards the cavern in the trunk, and tossed the cigarettes towards her tutor. Newt caught them and pulled one out of the pack before removing his matchbook from his trousers. 

“Pass it to me,” said Mako as Newt took his first drag, referring to the lit cigarette that he pinched between his first two fingers. Newt raised his eyebrow to her as he exhaled, to which she rolled her eyes. “Now is not the time to pretend to be the ideal tutor, Newton.”

Despite his better sense, he passed the lit cigarette to her as she reached down from her position on the branch. “I know that I needn’t ask you to not mention this to your father, but I must request that you do try to not catch your dress on fire.” 

“I will, but not because you asked me to,” she said as she puffed the cigarette gracefully, ashing it off the edge of the thick branch. 

“You know, you could at _least_ fake a cough, to even _slightly_ relieve my conscience.” 

She glanced down at him, giving two short, inauthentic coughs before sticking it back in the side of her mouth. “Any news from your trip to town this morning, then?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Actually, yes,” replied Newt, “and also? Give me that back.” 

Mako leaned down to return the cigarette to Newt. “What, then? Inquiring minds want to know.” 

“Isodola Morevan’s older brother has returned from his trip around Italy, for starters.”

“Fascinating,” said Mako in a voice that implied it was anything but.

“And he asked after you.” 

She let out a hoarse laugh. “And for what purpose?”

Newt raised his brow. “I think you know what purpose.”

“Jeremy Morevan?” scoffed Mako from her perch. “He’s positively ancient.” 

“He’s twenty-five, Mako. That’s a good two years younger than I.” 

“Your point?” 

“You know, sometimes I don’t know why I spend so much time with you.”

She thought for a moment. “My father pays you to? And neither of us have any other friends?”

“Fair enough.” 

“Regardless, he’s entirely unsuitable for me. I’ve hardly ever seen him out of doors and _never_ heard him have an interesting conversation. And besides, he’d expect me to be just like Isodola; all delicate and polite and proper.” She shuddered.

“Yeah, I can’t see you being anything of those things.” 

Mako’s foot kicked dangerously close to Newt’s head. “I’m _joking._ Regardless, point made. No Jeremy Morevan.”

 _"Thank_ you -"

“Although he isn’t terrible on the eyes -"

“Then I gladly revoke any ownership I have over his poor heart, should _you_ decide to pursue him.”

He paused. “Well, perhaps he’s not _that_ good looking.”

“Precisely my point,” said Mako, and she looked as though she might say something more, but then they were both alerted by the faint sound of hooves and carriage wheels arriving in the distance. One quick glance towards the road informed them that it was the Marshal returning, and all peacefulness was set aside as he rushed to put out his cigarette with his boot and help Mako down from the tree. They both speedily brushed off all of the debris that had accumulated on her white dress, Newt particularly looking to ensure that no ash had made its way onto the stark fabric. 

After a few moments, they were both confident in their efforts to hide their misbehaviors, and fled towards the home to meet the Marshal and play the perfect ward and servant.

* * *

A week had passed since Newt and Mako had last sat in their tree, as vicious springtime storms had plagued the area almost every day and night since. Though he usually preferred to teach Mako outside on the veranda in the few pleasant months that they managed to get in northern England, the disruptive weather had meant that he had had to settle for the sitting room all week. 

They were there at present, having just concluded their lessons for the day. The storm raged on outside as it had done all day, rattling the brittle glass of the windows that surrounded them. 

“I do wish that this ridiculous weather would pass,” sighed Mako as she made her idle way towards the plush chairs. Sitting down, she crossed her arms over the back of the seat and rested her head atop them, a small frown having taken over her face.

Newt absentmindedly agreed, though in secret he preferred the weather. Downpour meant puddles, and puddles meant toads, and toads, at least to Newton Geiszler, meant a solid evening of study and entertainment. At the moment, he was even considering his prospects at catching a Natterjack outside the horse barn when he retired for the night.

Mako said nothing further, instead simply groaning into her folded arms. Unlike himself, Newt knew that Mako was positively _aching_ for the good weather to return; she was the sort of person who belonged to the sun before and above all else, and it had been nearly a week since she’d been permitted to go for a ride or take a swim, which had left her entirely riddled with suppressed energy and thinly-veiled disappointment. 

The house suddenly creaked, and for a second Newt just assumed it was an aftereffect of the last roll of thunder. However, he quickly realized it was more intentional than that as the sound of adjusting wood persisted.

“I believe I hear your father,” said Newt as a familiar set of footsteps entered the home from down the hall. He soon had his assumption validated as Marshal Pentecost made his way down the corridors and into the sitting room. Newt stood up to acknowledge the lord of the house’s presence, bowing towards him.

Mako, on the other hand, leapt up from her seat and towards her father, where she was met with open arms. “Hello, Father! We’ve just finished for the evening.”

“Hello, blossom,” said the Marshal as he kissed the top of his daughter’s head and took off his soaked overcoat, handing it to his valet, a man by the name of Langston, who’d appeared in the entrance. “And perfect timing, then. I had hoped that I would be able to catch Newton before he headed downstairs for the evening.”

“Yes, sir?” said Newt, slightly taken aback by that last bit as he looked into the impassive eyes of the Marshal. His mind quickly raced over all of the different reasons why he could potentially be in trouble with him, though, unfortunately, there were too many to be sure of which one he was about to be scolded about right now.

The Marshal took note of his expression. “Spare me the frightened glance, Newton. This is good news, not bad.” 

Mako lit up as Newt’s shoulders relaxed.

The Marshal continued. “I am sure you are both familiar with the Bolton estate, correct?” 

“That enormous, empty estate towards the east of town, yes?” offered Mako. “The river runs through the property.” 

He nodded. “I happened to come across an individual who is considering letting it today while in town, and had the opportunity to strike up a conversation with him.” 

Mako leaned forward in her chair, quickly intrigued. “Who is it? What are they like? Do they bring guests?” 

“One question at a time, Mako. He’s a gentleman by the name of Mr. Raleigh Becket, of London.”

Newt, who had read all of the genealogy records in the town early in his residence with the Pentecost family (less out of interest than it was sheer boredom, given that he’d read through the Marshal’s library in his first year of service), didn’t recall ever having heard of the Becket name. 

He nearly opened his mouth to inquire about it when Mako beat him to the punch.

The Marshal, who had by now taken a seat in the chair opposite his daughter, responded. “I am, but only surfacely. I have heard of their immense success over the years in trade, though I know of little more than that. He appears to be the head of his family, though he’s rather young.”

“He must have landed himself a good-sized inheritance, then, if he is to take on the Bolton estate,” said Newt aloud, though he hadn’t necessarily meant to. “I mean, sir.” 

The Marshal quietly forgave his lack of formality. “You are very correct in that, Newton.”

Mako nodded, bored by the answer. “You still haven’t told me what he’s like, though he already sounds dull.” 

“A stark judgement for a man you have yet to meet, Mako,” scolded the Marshal, though there was no true malice behind his accusation, but rather a hint of veiled amusement. “Since you asked, however, I must admit that I liked the gentleman. He was rather amiable, though his company was quite silent.” 

“Company?” 

“Yes, with him he had another gentleman and a lady. They intend to stay with him at the estate for the time being, it appears.” 

“And? What were they like?”

“I have little more to report on those two, with the exception that they seemed deep in conversation with each other and that Mr. Becket had implied that the gentleman was a man of science.” 

The Marshal made it obvious with a glance that the last bit had been meant for Newt’s ears, specifically. Before Newt could ask any further questions, though, the Marshal revealed what news he had clearly been waiting to disclose. 

“The reason I lower myself to silly gossip with you both now, is that Mr. Becket has informed me that he and his party will be attending the upcoming ball next Friday at the local assembly halls, of which we are also to be in attendance.” 

Newt could see Mako trying to play it off as if she weren’t excited, though her efforts were futile. 

“Well, then,” she said, her lips pursed but her eyes bright. “I suppose I will be able to form my own opinion of these mysterious strangers then.” After a pause, she then added, “So does this mean that Newton will be allowed to attend this ball? Since you said he needed to hear this as well?”

The Marshal nodded. Newt was a touch stunned at that part of the announcement, and more than a little confused as to why. He knew that the ball would be great fun, particularly with Mako at his side, but he didn’t quite understand the purpose of his attendance. Perhaps the Marshal would reveal it to him later, in private, and it would all be clear to him then. 

Mako finally allowed herself to grin. “Wonderful! Do you hear that, Newton? You’re going to be our guest!”

“I did,” said Newt, smiling first at Mako and then at the Marshal. “Thank you, sir.” 

“You’re welcome, Newton,” said the Marshal, before he changed the subject. “Mako, could you go tell Mrs. Dramouth that we’re ready for dinner?”

“Yes, Father,” said Mako, too gleeful to be annoyed about the task, and she set off to relay the message to the house cook. 

Silence took over as Newt and the Marshal were left alone in the sitting room. 

Newt lingered for another moment, wordlessly, expecting the Marshal to disclose more about why he was supposed to accompany them to the assembly halls, but instead the Marshal lifted up the newspaper that had been left on the small table before him and began to read, paying Newt no further attention. 

Well, that settled that, then _._ He wouldn’t be getting any answers to his questions tonight, it seemed. He took the subtle cue to see himself back to his quarters for the evening, and left for the basement stairs. 

As he trotted down the wooden steps towards the servant’s area, he caught Mako on her way back up from seeing about dinner. 

“Newton!” she exclaimed, pulling him off to the side of the stairwell. “Isn’t this grand? You and me, going to the ball?”

“Oh, _so_ grand,” laughed Newt, “though I must admit, I fail to see your father’s reasoning.”

Mako waved his concern away flippantly, rolling her eyes. “Oh, nevermind that. Whoever knows how Father works? He can think that you’ll protect us from feral vampires or rogue Americans, for all I care, so long as I’m finally not going to be alone at one of these dreadful things.” 

“Mako Mori, ever alone without her flock of admirers?” protested Newt. “I doubt I shall ever live to see the day.”

It was true; from a young age, the boys had always liked Mako, and though she was always polite, it was often more than she had ever liked them. The boys that Mako thought were even a tad interesting were far and few between, and always terribly short lived, and though Mako rarely spoke of the dissolutions of her fleeting interests, Newt had always suspected that it was typically, if not consistently, of her doing. 

Mako laughed. “Forgive me - what I meant to say was, finally I am not going to be lonely of the people I actually _like_ at one of these dreadful things.” 

Newt chuckled, but argued no further. “You’d better get up to your father before he wonders if you’ve taken up a job in the kitchen,” said Newt, nodding towards the top of the stairs. 

“Right,” said Mako, turning to leave. “Goodnight, Newton!”

“Goodnight, Mako,” he said with a smile as he continued his descent. 

As he reached the final step at the bottom, he could see the servant’s dining room which looked into the kitchen, the latter being currently occupied by Mrs. Dramouth, a stout older woman with ginger hair who wore a perpetually miffed expression.

“What’ve you prepared for us tonight, Mrs. Dramouth?” called Newt from across the room as the cook hustled about her cluttered workplace. 

“Nothing for you if you don’t hush up and let me work,” shouted back Mrs. Dramouth, not looking up at him as she picked up a wooden spoon and set at stirring one of the various pots before her. 

_Fair enough,_ thought Newt, and he let her be, going to sit at the empty servant’s table. 

The Bridewater house had been built into a small hill, right at the top of it, so that when one faced the building out front, one could only see the two main stories and the attic windows, but when one looked at it from the back, one could see the entirety of the basement where the servants resided, including the two doors that led in and out of their lower quarters.

As Newt watched out the windows at the sprawling hills of the Bridewater estate, he saw lightning strike something far in the distance, causing a great crack of harsh light to flood the sky for an instant. 

“Did you see that?” exclaimed Newt, pointing outside at the raging storm. 

“Mr. Geiszler, if you don’t stop talking at me, you won’t live to see tomorrow,” called back Mrs. Dramouth as she took out a tray of squabs from the cast iron oven. 

Newt sighed and forced himself to be content with examining the scene alone, though his mind wandered quickly towards the invitation he’d just received from the Marshal.

Clearly, it had to have something to do with the party he’d mentioned, the mysterious Mr. Becket and his guests, or the Marshal wouldn’t have brought it up it before telling Newt and Mako of the ball. 

_The gentleman scientist._

Now that, that was interesting. They didn’t get many of those up in Sladehall End, that was for certain, and the ones they did were usually ancient old retirees who had little time for Newt’s conversation. 

But the Marshal had mentioned that the Becket man was young, had he not? So perhaps his company was, too. 

_Hm._ A _young_ gentleman scientist was perhaps in town. 

Exceptionally more interesting to imagine.

The Marshal had said he wasn’t talkative, though Newt didn’t want to take that to mean that the other man was unfriendly, not just yet. Though no one had ever accused Newt himself of being soft-spoken, he knew that many who shared his pursuit for knowledge were on the shyer side. Maybe that was simply the case for this man, Newt mused, picturing a quiet, modest gentleman with a kind smile who just needed to be introduced to the right topic to speak up. 

He wondered if he’d get the opportunity to speak to the man and found himself secretly hoping for it, which, at his ripe old age of twenty-seven, almost seemed silly; it’d been a long time since Newt had blushed at the thought of a man he hadn’t met, and even longer since he’d had the foolishness to get his hopes up about a rich, educated gentleman who likely wouldn’t even notice him in the room. 

_But what if he does notice?_

And yet, there they were, his hopes persisting despite him knowing entirely better than to get them up. He simply couldn’t help it as he imagined the intriguing stranger. 

He wondered what he liked to talk about; would it be nature, or physics, or engineering, or medicine? Would he appreciate the tranquil river that ran through the Bolton estate, or the enchanting meadows on the outskirts of town, rich with small, gentle life? Perhaps he would want Newt to show him around the more interesting spots in nature around Sladehall End; maybe he might ask him -

_"Newton!"_

He whipped his head around to face Mrs. Dramouth, who stared at him with her hands balled into fists at her hips. “Yes, Mrs. Dramouth?”

“So when I _want_ you to listen, you’ve no problem tuning me out, then?” she scoffed from across the room, and Newt suddenly wondered just how long she’d been trying to get his attention. 

“Sorry, Mrs. Dramouth,” he apologized, standing to his feet to await his orders. 

She rolled her eyes, lips tight in a perturbed scowl, as she gestured towards the china cabinet beside him. “Now, can you _please_ bring me enough dishware for the Marshal and Miss Mori, if you’ve decided to rejoin us in reality?” 

Newt nodded quickly, scurrying towards the shelves and trying to push out rosy thoughts of mysterious strangers for the time being.


	2. An Impression Formed

The week had passed by quickly and pleasantly. The weather had finally returned to its springtime sublimity, and Newton and Mako’s studies had consisted of little schoolwork and significantly more chatter relating to the upcoming ball and the new visitors of Sladehall End. Before he even realized, Friday evening had sprung upon them and he was in the carriage alongside the Marshal and Mako on their way to the assembly rooms. 

Mako, who was sat beside him, rested her head on Newt’s shoulder gingerly, avoiding slamming her skull into his as the carriage hit bumpier patches of the road. Her black hair had been pinned back, only a few wisps framing her face. The silk dress she wore was a rich plum color, accented with intricate cream embroidery patterns at the raised waistline and the hem. Newt found it very pretty, though seeing such a tomboy as Mako in something so delicate almost tickled him.

“How much do you want to bet that they’ll be exceedingly dull, Newton?” whispered Mako to her companion, though not quietly enough to avoid the Marshal hearing. 

“Again, Mako. You haven’t met the gentleman nor his guests,” sighed Pentecost, looking outside the carriage window with a stony expression that had taken Newt years to recognize was one of amusement.

“I know, Father. But they had your approval, did they not? And for that, I fear that they could live up to their reputation.” 

Newt glared at Mako, not out of anger at her statement, but for saying such a thing when she knew that it would be highly inappropriate for Newt to laugh. Mako winked in return. The Marshal continued to look out the carriage window regardless, though Newt could see a hint of a smile twitching on the corner of his lips.

Not long after, their carriage arrived at a halt, causing both Mako and Newt to suddenly sit upright. A servant appeared at their door, opening it, and allowing the three to exit at the steps of the assembly hall. It had gotten quite dark out, and chattering voices and the sound of hooves clopping against brick echoed throughout the dimly lit street.

Making their way indoors, the Marshal was quickly drawn into conversation with recognizable gentlemen, leaving Mako and Newt on their own. _Perhaps a mistake,_ Newt mused to himself as he glanced upon the crowd of large, twirling dresses and well-dressed lords who seemed to lumber over them. He scanned the room for familiar faces but came up with none and, upon looking at the disappointed expression Mako wore, neither did she. 

The party had to be _somewhere,_ he supposed, so he decided to head towards the exterior hallways of the building to see if he might find anyone there, dragging Mako along with him.

As soon as he left the ballroom, his eye caught a familiar face leaning against the stairwell right next to the main entrance. Newt beelined in his direction as quickly as he could in a place where he knew it would be inappropriate to flat-out run, Mako trailing after.

“Tendo!” he exclaimed as soon as he arrived at the spot. Perhaps a bit too loudly at that, given to turned heads of the other parties lingering in the hallway, but Newt brushed off any guilt with ease. 

Tendo, who had been deep in conversation with two other servants up until this moment, turned to face the new arrivals. Upon recognition, he immediately grinned. “Now _that’s_ trouble! Hello, Newton!”

Newt laughed, grateful for the familiarity that Tendo presented. He had known him for almost as long as he’d been in Sladehall End; though Tendo’s primary occupation was serving the Longshire family during the day, in the evenings he could be often found in the town’s only pub, as both a frequent customer and as a fill-in bartender in a pinch. They had spent many nights together throwing back pints and annoying all the other patrons over the years. Newt wondered what he was doing here, but given his costume, could see that Tendo was not here as a guest like he was, but as an employee. 

“Glad to see you as well,” said Newton, before suddenly remembering that he had his companion with him. “Tendo, this is Mako Mori, the Marshal’s daughter. Mako, this -”

Tendo cut him off, entirely forgetting the two servants he had previously been engaged with and directing his full attention to Mako. “Miss Mori, I’ve heard much about you from my friend here.” He took her hand and gingerly kissed the top of it. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Tendo Choi, and I must say, your tutor has done you a great disservice, and I must recommend you letting him go immediately.”

“Is that so?” said Mako, taking her hand back and not-so-subtly wiping it on the side of her gown. “I pray, you must tell me why.”

“You see, Mako,” continued Tendo, wrapping his arm around Newton who immediately began wriggling under his grasp. “Newton has informed me almost incessantly for the past few years about your talents and intelligence, even going insofar as to say you’re quite the outdoorsman as well. However, in all of our long, long conversations, he has never once informed me of your striking beauty.”

Mako rolled her eyes as Newt finally released himself from Tendo’s grasp. “Consider, perhaps,” grunted Newt as he readjusted his jacket and collar, “that I saw it to be absolutely, entirely none of your concern, at any point in our extensive acquaintance.” 

Tendo grinned. “You see, Newton, that is where you would be wrong. It is always my concern when it comes to knowing who the most beautiful girls in Sladehall End are.” 

“Ah, yes,” said Newt. “I forgot that that was one of the primary duties of the Longshire's lower footmen.” 

“Oi!” gasped Tendo, feigning insult. “You forget, I bartend as well.” 

"Right, and for no wages." 

"You know, one mustn't monetize all their passions."

“Spoken like a person with a _lot_ more money than I know _you_ to have, love. Speaking of which, what are you doing here right now?”

“Oh, the Longshire’s coachman is out with a cold, and it seems as though the rest of the stable staff have got it, too,” said Tendo, shrugging. “So it looks like I’m filling in tonight.”

Newt was about to reply when a hush fell over the hallway. Not one to like being out of the loop, Newt quickly looked over the room, following all eyes towards the main entrance, where an unfamiliar trio stood silently. 

A tall gentleman with wispy blonde hair and pale, freckly features led the party. He was dressed in a rich, black tailcoat with a tophat tucked underneath his right arm. As he glanced about the crowd, he wore a rather flustered smile, though it was charming on him. 

Behind him stood a thin, elegant woman with deep brown skin, draped in a red satin gown with a neck full of rubies, who looked so exquisite that she might as well have just waltzed off the canvas of a Vigée Le Brun original. Last was another gentleman dressed in just as fine a suit, whose features were largely hidden under the shadow of his own hat but seemed to be leaning on a cane. Newt craned to get a better look but was met with no success. 

“Is that them?” whispered Mako as Newt, Tendo, and what seemed to be every other living soul in the hallway simply gaped at the strangers at the door. 

“I think that’s a rather safe assumption,” he responded quietly, refusing to take his eyes off them even as Mako hooked her arm into his.

As dedicated as each member of the hallway seemed to be in stationarily observing the new arrivals, the trio themselves instead continued forth into the main ballroom. It took only moments for all of their watchers to quickly follow suit behind them. 

Once they had all arrived in the ballroom, its own occupants fell under the same spell of silence as the others. The small quartet that had been playing music quickly came to a pause, as the blonde gentleman that had led the trio cleared his throat in a way that Newt could have sworn sounded nervous. 

“Hello, everyone,” he started in a deep but quiet voice, eyes flitting across the entirety of the room. Falling silent for a moment, he fiddled with the button hole on his fitted waistcoat and looked back towards the gentleman behind him. 

The other gentleman, whose face was still obscured to Newton, seemed to have given his companion a visual nudge, as the man turned back around to face his audience and continued, somewhat louder now. “I am Raleigh Becket, and these are my companions, Mr. Hermann Gottlieb and Miss Vanessa Ainsworth.”

The Marshal was the first to break from the crowd and approach, bowing politely as he neared the newcomers. “It is good to see you again, Mr. Becket, as well as your companions.”

Mr. Becket grinned at the Marshal, clearly grateful for his forthcomingness. “It is splendid to be invited to your town’s assembly halls. I’m rather fond of country balls, you see.” 

The Marshal chuckled, and the room itself became friendlier, the music starting up once more. Others now came towards the Marshal and Mr. Becket’s party, and soon Newt’s view of the group was completely obscured. 

Mako brought her face close to Newt’s ear, and whispered, “He is certainly not the charming city gentleman that I had expected.”

Newt laughed, and gave up his fight to see the face of the scientist, who he now implored to be Mr. Gottlieb. “I wouldn’t speak so harshly, Mako. He seems rather sweet, which I myself was not expecting.” 

Mako raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Do you fancy him, then?” 

Newton elbowed her gently in her waist. “Don’t be silly.” 

“He wasn’t too bad on the eyes, I’ll give him that.” 

“Well, now,” said Newt with mock sternness, “it rather sounds like _you_ fancy him.” 

“Now _you’re_ being silly, Newton. Clearly you must have missed our more recent conversation, as I am clearly obliged to your companion Mr. Choi now, as his immense charm has completely enraptured my heart,” said Mako, very seriously, as she began to tug at his arm. “Now enough of this talk. We are going to dance.”

* * *

In what seemed like far too many waltzes and Scottish reels later, Newt and Mako finally pulled themselves away from the dancing and found themselves at the refreshments table, as Newt poured Mako a glass of the unnamed pink beverage that occupied the large punch bowl. Mako readily accepted it with eager hands.

Feeling the sweat beading up at his hairline, Newt brought the sleeve of his coat up to his forehead and patted himself dry. As he brought his arm back down, he was startled to see Mr. Becket and Mr. Gottlieb standing before them. Mako had adjusted her posture so that she was standing straight up, and abandoned her cup on the table behind them. 

Becket stood with his arms held behind his back, a smile plastered on his rosy face. He stood with his chest slightly puffed out, head held tall, directly facing Mako. Gottlieb stood slightly behind him, and Newt was granted the first opportunity to look closely at his face. 

Gottlieb’s face was a pale white, with brown eyes that glanced upon Newt and Mako with a tinge of annoyance. His cheekbones were so high and his build so lean that there was a sense of hollowness to his face. His lips were thin, but a soft pink that Newt found himself staring at for a moment longer than intended. 

“Mr. Becket, Mr. Gottlieb,” Mako greeted, causing Newt to stop looking at the scientist and bring his attention to the conversation at hand.

“It is lovely to make your acquaintance,” said Becket, grinning. “May I call you Miss…”

“Mori is my family name,” finished Mako, giving a gentle curtsy. “Though my father is Marshal Pentecost. I believe you’ve met him.”

“Yes!” beamed Becket, his boyish face lighting up. Newt really couldn’t deny that he was certainly one of the better-looking visitors they’d had in Sladehall End. “I have had the great pleasure of meeting your father on a number of instances now. He had mentioned that he had a daughter.”

“Well, you have now met her,” said Mako, letting out a small laugh. “This is my tutor, Mr. Newton Geiszler, who has joined us this evening.” 

Becket turned to Newt for the first time since he arrived at the refreshment table, and nodded towards him. “It is very nice to meet you, Mr. Geiszler.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Becket,” said Newt, returning the nod, “and it’s nice to formally meet you as well, Mr. Gottlieb.”

Gottlieb looked over at Newt, and returned the nod sharply. His eyes seemed to linger on Newton’s for a moment, though he quickly turned back to look at the crowd of people before him, his lips pursed in disapproval. 

Becket sensed the awkwardness between his guest and Newton, and began toying with the button on his jacket as Newt had seen him do earlier. It must be a sort of nervous habit; perhaps Becket wasn’t even aware of himself doing it, mused Newt. As much as he liked Becket, which was a surprising amount seeing as how short their acquaintance had been thus far, it brought him a small, selfish joy to see such a handsome, well-grounded man as him feel nervous. 

“So how are you liking the Bolton estate?” inquired Newt. 

The other man looked terrifically grateful for the diversion, and Newt felt suddenly very guilty for taking any delight in his apprehension. “Settling in quite nicely, thank you. It is a rather charming estate. I find myself more fond of it with every morning.”

“I hear it has quite the library,” said Newt, and it was true. He’d long ached to get behind the doors of it.

“So I have heard from my friend here,” Becket said, indicating towards the brooding gentleman behind him who still refused to join in on the conversation. Gottlieb ignored him though Newt suspected that he had heard them.

With every minute, Newt’s expectations of Gottlieb diminished and were replaced by growing intolerance for his rudeness. He ought to make a habit of listening to the Marshal more, really. 

“I must admit, I am not the reader myself,” continued Becket. “I would like to be, but I can never seem to sit down long enough to finish one.” He paused as if to consider what he had just said, then backtracked. “Not that I don’t try to better myself with knowledge every day. I just tend to want to be outdoors, you see. Not that you can’t read outdoors -”

Mako laughed, a soft chuckle that stopped Becket in his tracks. Newt could see the redness forming not only on his cheekbones but the tips of his ears. 

“I understand you entirely, Mr. Becket,” said Mako, smiling. “I can also seem to never sit still.” 

“Do you like dancing, Miss Mori?” Becket blurted suddenly. The reddening only worsened. 

Mako nodded. “Indeed I do, Mr. Becket. In fact, that is where Newton and I have just come from now.”

“Well, if it would be all right with you,” said Becket, the bravery mounting in his voice, “may I be so bold as to claim the next two dances?” 

Newt could feel his own eyes bulge out of his head. The wealthy, handsome stranger from London wanted _his_ Mako to dance? He had to resist every urge he felt to grab Mako by the waist and push her towards him and the dance floor. 

Clearly unaffected by the same emotions as her tutor, Mako nodded slowly, lifting her previously abandoned drink from the table behind her. “You may, Mr. Becket, though I pray that you allow me to have the next few numbers to regroup myself; Newton and I rather enjoyed ourselves on that floor the last time we went out.”

Becket nodded rapidly. “As you wish, Miss Mori. I will rejoin with you then.” 

He and Gottlieb quickly made their exit, and Newt soon turned to Mako.

“Holy shit.”

Mako took a sip from her retrieved cup and raised her eyebrows, saying nothing.

“Looks like someone found themselves an admirer,” pressed Newt, nudging her playfully with his elbow. 

Mako shook her head, swallowing the drink. “A dancing partner. All I’ve found is a dancing partner.”

“So be it,” said Newt, though he bought her coyness little. “At least someone found something. I certainly don’t get the notion that I’ve found someone to debate scientific theories with.”

“I would rather say not, unfortunately,” Mako agreed, tossing him a sympathetic glance. “I must say the second gentleman was rather horrible.” 

“At least one of them is charming,” said Newt, nudging Mako on the shoulder, who only replied with a roll of her eyes.

* * *

Time eventually came for Mako to go off with Becket, and soon enough she was being twirled across the room by a rather handsome partner, if Newton did say so himself. Even considering the brevity of their acquaintance, they seemed to find each other’s rhythms easily, and had quickly become the most impressive couple in the room.

Partnerless as he now was, Newt himself wandered out of the hall towards the yard where the carriages waited to take their owners home for the evening, where he, unsurprisingly, found Tendo throwing back a bottle of gin in between two Thoroughbreds. 

Newt had always had a more “join-’em” than “beat-’em” attitude and was currently standing on a wooden cart behind the farthest carriage in the lot, careful to not acquire any mud or, well, worse on his shoes. Tendo had joined him back there, and they passed the bottle between them. 

When Tendo offered a rolled cigarette, Newt accepted. It wasn’t long before their conversation became solely about the well-to-do citizens of Sladehall End, as two bored servant boys were wont to discuss.

“So, Tendo. Tell me. What information do you have on this new lot?”

“Depends,” said Tendo, taking a dramatic drag from his cigarette, “on what you already know.”

“All I know,” said Newt, “is that Becket is taking over the Bolton estate, and his friend is a drag.” 

Tendo nodded. “All true, though it is essential to note that they are all very rich drags.” 

“All of them?”

“All of them. Well, Becket isn’t a drag, well, at least I don’t think, but you know what I mean. And I suppose I don’t really know Miss Ainsworth well enough to form any opinion -”

Newt sighed. “Yes, I get that. Continue further.”

Tendo nodded, regaining his previous train of thought. “Obviously, you know Becket is loaded, seeing as he’s taking on the Bolton estate. Victoria, who works at Janesfield Manor, said that she overheard her lady saying that he inherited a fortune of £100,000.”

“The Becket that is in there, right now, dancing with my Mako?” Newt exclaimed, immediately slapping his hand over his mouth as if it had any effect on the volume of that which had just come out. If he’d done his math right, that was a sum of £4,000 or £5,000 per _annum._

(And Newton Geiszler _always_ did his math right.)

“That Becket indeed.”

“Good for her,” Newt said as if by reflex. Tendo agreed, taking another swig.

“And Miss Ainsworth? That woman he’s with? I hear she has a fortune of £20,000.”

Newt whistled. That was certainly nothing to scoff at. “So who is she, by the way? It seems rather odd for them to take the company of an unmarried woman, don’t you think? Not that I myself have a problem with it, but you’d think they would, being the aristocracy and all that.”

Tendo laughed, “They’re not quite aristocracy, though it seems like that Gottlieb thinks he is. I’m not sure, though. Perhaps she’s being courted by one of them.”

“I would guess not Mr. Becket, then, or he wouldn’t have been swooning over Miss Mori all evening. Though,” he added after a pause, “Gottlieb didn’t seem very affectionate with her, either.”

“I haven’t even told you about Gottlieb yet, and that’s the best bit.”

“What?” asked Newt. He couldn’t help that his curiosity peaked. Despite how awful the man seemed to be, Newt still found himself wanting to know more about him. 

“Well, for starters, it’s common knowledge that he owns the Summerworth estate.” Tendo seemed to notice Newt’s unfamiliarity, as he continued. “Oh, it’s a grand old place, apparently. Not only is the house itself allegedly enormous, but the whole estate is - get this - _60,000 acres."_

“Shut up,” said Newt, wide-eyed. 

Tendo nodded eagerly. “And when I was just outside the entrance, I heard Mrs. Farnsway tell Lady Corrigan that he is worth at least £10,000 a _year_.”

Newt’s mouth gaped open, and stayed that way for longer than intended. Tendo eventually lifted the bottle to his companion’s open lips, and poured some in. Newt accepted, swallowing and wiping his sleeve across his mouth. The shock still didn’t settle in. 

“I thought he was a scientist?”

“He is. Just an ungodly rich one. He owns half of Taernsby, for God’s sake.”

“The terrible half, I presume.”

Newt went to say more, but suddenly two more voices were heard at the other end of the lot. Newt and Tendo quickly ducked and put out their cigarettes in the mud, both of them falling silent. 

Newt peeked around the side of the carriage to where the two figures stood. He quickly recognized Mr. Gottlieb and Miss Ainsworth. Gottlieb leaned on his cane with one arm while his other hand rested in a fist at his side. He had a sour look on his face, not the one unlike Newton had observed on him when they’d come across one another at the party. Perhaps, Newt thought, his face looked like that all the time. Miss Ainsworth simply looked bored. 

“If this isn’t the dullest party I ever go to in my life, you might as well just kill me now,” she bemoaned, analyzing the various array of rings on her right hand. 

Mr. Gottlieb grunted. “These country assemblies that Becket drags us to do seem to fall into this pattern. Outdated music, rude people, unintelligible banter.” 

“Outdated?” repeated Miss Ainsworth, “My dear, they were playing waltzes. Those are very in this season.”

“Regardless,” huffed Gottlieb, though he didn’t argue the point any further.

Miss Ainsworth continued. “It’s a shame that Becket seems to have grabbed the only agreeable dancing partner as well.”

“You know I despise dancing, Vanessa.”

“I didn’t mean for you, _Hermann_.” 

“Careful,” said Gottlieb slowly, though Newt couldn’t quite detect the tone of his voice. “I can have a letter sent up to London by tomorrow afternoon.”

Miss Ainsworth let out a soft chuckle as she continued adjusting her rings on her fingers. “Oh, _sue me,_ Hermann. We have no rules against _dancing_ at a _country ball,_ for God’s sake. Regardless, you can’t deny that she’s very pretty.”

Mr. Gottlieb glanced sharply towards her. “Perhaps so, but the rest of her company certainly looks rude enough.”

Miss Ainsworth looked up from her hands and cocked her head. “Do you mean her father? I thought he was fine, at least given the rest of the present audience.” 

“I thought so at first as well, until I discovered that he brought his staff to formal balls as if they were his company. I mean, have you ever heard of such a thing?” 

She laughed. “I suppose I have not. Is that who that young man with Miss Mori was?”

Newt could faintly see Hermann nod in the darkness. “Indeed. It would be excusable if he were fit for polite society. Instead, he makes a fool of himself out there dancing, and intermingles between the staff and the attendees freely.” 

Newt looked at Tendo, who shrugged. He must have seen him speaking with Tendo before the evening had started, though the mere idea surprised Newt. Why had he observed him before even stepping in for the evening, before he had even recognized his friend’s obvious attraction to Mako?

“I thought he was cute,” sighed Miss Ainsworth. “If one were to be into that sort of thing.”

Gottlieb didn’t respond to the comment, or at least didn’t have the opportunity to do so, as suddenly Newton found himself walking out from behind the carriage he and Tendo had been hiding behind, and heading towards them. Tendo scrambled to catch up behind him, bewildered at the sudden change in course.

Startled, Gottlieb and Miss Ainsworth jerked to look at the figures approaching them from the back of the lot. It was only moments before they recognized Newt. They seemed to immediately tense, with Gottlieb’s shoulders in particular stiffening. Newt felt his own body fill with a furious heat as he entered their inner proximity. 

He only stopped when he was standing right before them and immediately went to lock eyes with Gottlieb, but the other man quickly tilted his head to avoid his stare. Tendo caught up seconds later, shoving the bottle of gin into his jacket with little subtlety. 

“You two are missing the party, you know,” said Newt, feeling the words tumble out of his mouth. “There’s some great dancing in there.”

“I rarely dance, Mr. Geiszler,” replied Gottlieb after a moment. 

“Is that so, Mr. Gottlieb? Or is it the outdated music that turns you off?” 

Gottlieb immediately shifted to lock eyes with Newt, whose own jaw clenched.

“Perhaps it is because there are no partners available who are even barely tolerable,” said Gottlieb sharply, his brown eyes looking as though they wished they could burn a hole in Newt’s skull. 

The two continued to stare at each other for what felt like eternity but Newt knew must have only been seconds. It was Tendo who finally broke the silence. 

“Ought we get inside, Newton?” he said, voice cracking at the end of the sentence.

“We should, Mr. Choi,” said Newt, turning to face the entrance of the assembly halls and walking forward with purpose. Tendo wasted no time following.

As soon as they were inside the hall, Tendo immediately dragged Newt to the side. “What the hell was that?”

Newt himself wasn’t sure. Something had just… come over him. He shrugged helplessly, and Tendo sighed.

“Next time you try and almost start a row with the richest man in Sladehall End, let me know first, so that I can leave. Instantly. Because I am absolutely not losing this gig because you can’t handle your temper.”

Newt nodded. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I mean, I do think that you should’ve done it. That Gottlieb fellow is a prat. Just next time I’m staying behind the carriage.”

Newt laughed. “I suppose that’s fair.”

* * *

Enough time had passed for Newt’s blood pressure to revert back to normal, and now he stood off to the sidelines of the dancing, watching as Mako politely allowed herself to be twirled around by one of the sons of the Marshal’s friends. He could tell by the look on her face that she wasn’t very much enjoying herself. Once, she caught Newt’s eye and stuck her tongue out, a gesture that he happily returned. 

Without him noticing, suddenly Becket had appeared at his side. 

“Oh, hello again, sir,” said Newt, surprised by the appearance and not entirely sure what to say. 

“Hello again, Mr. Geiszler,” greeted Becket, though his eyes seemed concentrated on the dancers. Newt suspected there was one in particular. 

Newt’s small talk had always been rather… that: _small,_ and he struggled at what to say next. “Do you… like the music, sir?” he asked, rather meekly. 

Becket nodded as if he were answering the most important question he had been ever asked. “Oh, yes, it is very pleasing,” he said, earnestly, like he needed to convince Newt of his sincerity. 

“That’s good,” said Newt, before giving up any attempt to keep the conversation going. 

From beyond the dancers, on the opposite side of the floor, he glimpsed Gottlieb staring at them, forehead wrinkled in dismay. Becket didn’t seem to notice as he fixated on Mako (or at least, Newt suspected, given his eye movements lined up perfectly with each of her repositions.)

So, Newt did what any mature man in his position would do, and stuck his tongue out at the bitter gentleman across the room, which he definitely noticed, given that he immediately visibly huffed and turned away. 

Newt smiled, as if he had won some small victory, and decided to abandon the love-struck Becket to his gawking in search of anything strong to drink, preferably in large amounts.

* * *

The rest of the evening went along just fine, though Newt caught Mr. Gottlieb glaring at him from across the room more than a few times since the first. However, finally it came time for everyone to bid _adieu_ and head home for the night. By the point that they’d returned to their carriage, both Mako and Newton were exhausted from dancing and even the Marshal’s eyes looked heavy from the long evening.

As soon as the horses started their journey, Mako began unpinning her hair from its updo and let it all fall down, the black strands holding onto their weak curls as they tumbled down her shoulders.

“Did the two of you have an enjoyable evening?” asked the Marshal, who looked not at them but instead out the carriage window. 

“I did, sir,” said Newton, preferring not to elaborate any further. The Marshal, thankfully and predictably, didn’t push. 

“Very much so, Father,” said Mako as she turned to lay down on the carriage seat, resting her head on Newton’s lap. Newt helped her brush all of her hair out of her face and began lazily braiding it. 

“I saw that you became quite acquainted with Mr. Becket back there,” said the Marshal to his daughter, and Newt couldn’t quite tell whether it was a question or a statement.

“Only on the dance floor,” said Mako, to which Newt scoffed.

“For almost a quarter of the evening, he danced with you!”

“And I was with you for half of it. Does that make you a potential suitor?”

Newt mock-gagged, and Mako laughed. Even the Marshal smiled. 

“He would’ve danced with you for more, had you let him,” pressed Newt, not quite ready to let it up. 

“And crush Mr. Choi’s heart even further?” said Mako, closing her eyes. “I don’t think he could bear it.”

“Oh, trust me. He’ll bear it just fine.” 

Mako’s eyes fluttered open for a brief second to stare at Newt critically. “Has anyone ever told you that you've no knack for talking to women?”

He thought for a moment. “Women, mostly.”

“Well, they were correct. Goodnight, darling.” With that, Mako closed her eyes and feigned sleep for the remainder of the ride home. 

Newt and the Marshal sat in silence as the carriage trudged forward, giving Newt plenty of time to think about the man he’d just unfortunately encountered. 

Well, clearly he hadn’t needed to get his hopes up, seeing as he’d rarely encountered such a nasty and impolite person before in his life; and normally, Newt _liked_ nasty and impolite people. But no, Gottlieb was certainly not going to be one of the people that Newt liked. Newt didn’t care that he was the richest man in town. He could have been the king of England, and Newt would’ve probably _really_ started a row had he stood there any longer while the two had stared at each other in animosity for what seemed like ages. 

He felt a bit cheated, really, by the reveal of the gentleman’s true character. What an _ass_ he had been. Gottlieb had to be the rudest, most haughty individual he had ever come across in his entire time at Sladehall End, if not his whole life. Newt could be promised the entirety of the Bolton library and yet he would still not accept an invite to tea with the man. Not that he had any notion that one was to be arriving soon.

At least not for him, he reminded himself as he recalled Mako and Becket’s apparent enchantment with one another. As he closed his tired eyes and leaned against the back of his seat, he considered that, next time, _he_ would call dibs on the rich and handsome one, and Mako could have the sour, unpleasant prat. 

_It was only fair, really,_ he thought as temporary sleep overcame him.


	3. The Invitation

_May 1813_

A number of nights had passed since the gathering at the assembly halls, yet Newt had found himself entirely unable to concentrate on anything other than his unfortunate interaction with Mr. Gottlieb. Incessantly, he pictured his stiff, startled face as he and Tendo had barged through, the intense glare in his eyes when he finally turned to look at him.

Even days later, he could still perfectly conjure up the image of Gottlieb’s scowling expression as they’d locked eyes. Every stress wrinkle that had formed on his young skin from every needless worry that that man had ever felt in his life. From the look of it, there had been many. 

Brown eyes that looked at him with such _loathing,_ framed by black lashes that even blinked with antipathy. He’d never seen such very brown eyes look at him like that before. 

With each unwelcome memory of the event, Newt winced and swallowed it down, wishing to just forget it all entirely.

Mako also seemed to have a hard time forgetting about the evening, though her fixation on the events appeared to be less out of annoyance and more out of a growing affection that she refused to admit to Newton. 

During her lessons, Mako was typically very chatty, whether it be about the lesson or not. She’d quickly learned in Newt’s early days working for the family that he was _very_ easy to get off-subject and had frequently used it to her advantage. Not that Newt could blame her, as, in as many years as he’d been there, he’d never gotten any better at avoiding being veered off course. 

However, in recent days, she had been rather quiet during her studies, and not in the “focusing” way; instead, she seemed to drift off incessantly while Newt tried to teach. A smile would appear on her lips, her eyes would soften, and she would be entirely unreachable from the real world; though this look of infatuation was not a new one to Newton, he had to admit that it was the first time he had ever witnessed it on the face of his student.

Normally, he wouldn’t mind too much, but today, both he and Mako sat at the small iron table on the outdoor veranda while Pentecost read the recent paper on a lounge chair. 

As Mako continued to stare out at the old wooden barn with a slight smile across her face, Newt tried to subtly gain back her attention by tapping his finger on the book page of Latin vocabulary before her, and spoke louder. 

Rather than garner the attention of Mako, Newt’s plan backfired and instead he caught the eye of Pentecost, who had peered over the top of his paper and wasted no time realizing what was going on. 

“Mako?” asked the Marshal in his firm voice that was somehow simultaneously calm yet thunderous. Newt immediately stopped trying to teach and instead shut his mouth. 

Mako stirred from her daydream and turned to face her father, blinking back to reality after a few seconds, quickly understanding what had happened. 

“Yes, Father?” she said in improvised ignorance while Newt sunk down into his seat. 

“You know, Newton does not just sit here and lecture on Latin verbiage because he enjoys it,” said the Marshal slowly, flipping the page in his paper without taking his eyes off the pair. 

“Yes, Father,” said Mako, straightening her posture and looking down at the pages that laid out in front of her. 

“Good.” 

Newton hadn’t realized that he’d been holding his breath, but once he did, he exhaled as quietly as he could. 

It wasn’t that he _feared_ the Marshal, per say; he knew that he would never do any worse to him or Mako than give them a stern word or, if they were _really_ in trouble, a very long lecture, but it didn’t make his natural aura of authority any less intimidating. 

It had never been any surprise to Newt why or how the Marshal had had such success in the military, to say the least. 

As he tried to reorient himself back into teaching, his eye was caught by a red tint on the edge of the newspaper that the Marshal was reading, like a smudge on the parchment. As he strained his eyes to peer closer, he saw that it was coming from the Marshal’s index finger.

“Marshal, sir?” said Newton abruptly, to which the Marshal responded with a sigh, though he didn’t put down the paper. 

“Yes, Newton?”

“I think your finger is bleeding, sir,” said Newt, uncomfortably. Mako too now was looking at the Marshal’s finger, quickly seeing what Newt had been referring to.

“He’s right, Father,” said Mako warily, her eyes flickering over towards Newt’s. 

To this, the Marshal finally put down his paper. Mako gasped at the sight; a thin, red trail of blood led from the Marshal’s nostril to the top of his lip, slightly smudged where Newton presumed he must have brushed against it with his fingertips. The blood still came out, though slowly. 

“Father! Your nose!” shrieked Mako as she pulled her handkerchief from beside her and rushed to his side.

Pentecost quietly allowed her to blot at the bleeding though it didn’t appear as though he was sure of what was happening. Newt got out of his seat as well and went towards the Marshal. 

“Lean your head forward,” instructed Newt, “and breathe through your mouth. That’ll stop the blood from going to the back of your throat,” and, after a moment, adding, “Sir.” 

The Marshal did as he was ordered. Newt was overwhelmed by the realization that this was the first time he had ever given the orders to the Marshal, rather than received them. Though Newt had never been one for loving authority, he had to admit that something felt very wrong about his current situation.

After a few quiet minutes and a well-soaked handkerchief, the bleeding stopped and the Marshal was able to sit upright again. 

Mako and Newt had remained quiet outside of helpful instruction for the entire ordeal, and now stood before the Marshal. Newt was hit with the sense of how small the Marshal looked, which only heightened the sick sense in his stomach. 

“Right,” said the Marshal, breaking the silence. “Thank you both.” 

Newt and Mako murmured their "you're welcome"'s back to the Marshal, both visibly uneasy, no matter how hard either of them tried to mask it. 

“Perhaps you should both get back to work.”

They followed suit with no argument, and for the remainder of the school day stayed on-topic; one might even say they entered into their studies with an unseen diligence. And as the lesson closed, and they said their goodbyes for the evening, they did not mention the incident. 

* * *

Over the weekend came the news that the military were to come to town, and Mako had insisted upon Newt taking her into the market for a glimpse of the soldiers. It had not taken much convincing on her part, and on Thursday morning they departed on the short walk to the center of Sladehall End. 

The air was pleasantly warm, making their journey an agreeable one. They frequently stopped to peer into the small creek that ran alongside the road, Newt pointing out each individual species of amphibian and freshwater plant while Mako tried to guess their Latin names. The local wildflowers had just begun to bloom as well, and soon the two had picked enough to fill Mako’s braid with purple, yellow, and pink flowerheads. 

Though they had taken their time, they eventually made it to town where soldiers had grouped by the masses in the town square. Conglomerations of red uniforms were every direction that Newt looked, as were military wagons and their attached horses. 

Mako hooked her arm in his and headed them both towards the fountain at the center of the square, dodging through soldiers as they went. Once they reached it, Mako lifted the bulk of her skirt and sat down on the fountain rim, patting down next to her for Newt to join. 

As he did so, Mako began to speak. “I hadn’t expected for there to be so many of them, had you?”

Newt shook his head, observing all the crimson uniforms that surrounded them. Before he responded, three of the soldiers approached them from the left. They all stood about six feet tall, Newt estimated, and, by looking at their lean yet muscular bodies under their costumes, guessed they were in their mid- to late twenties, though their matching youthful grins deaged them. 

“Greetings,” said the first unknown soldier as they reached them. 

“Hello there,” replied Mako, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand as she looked at their faces. 

“Allow us to introduce ourselves. I’m Hu Wei,” said the soldier who’d spoken before, “and these are my brothers, Cheung and Jin. We’ve just arrived in Sladehall End with the rest of our regiment.” 

“Really?” said Mako. “I’d presumed you were wearing those uniforms because you were simply fans.”

The soldier who had identified himself as Hu laughed. “Very observant, m’lady. And may I ask your names?”

“You may call me Mako Mori, and this is my companion, Newton Geiszler.” At the mention of his name, Newt smiled at the three soldiers, squinting through the sunlight.

The three nodded their heads in unison. The second soldier, apparently Cheung, spoke next in a smooth voice that Newt couldn’t help but find pleasing. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Might I ask what you two are doing in town on such a beautiful day?”

“We were just stopping through for the afternoon to see all the fuss,” replied Mako, “though it seems such a waste to be spending a day like this among the bricks and mortar here, now that we’ve arrived.” 

“What if we were to all take a stroll through the meadows to the north of the post office?” offered Newt, gesturing in the direction of the nearby field. 

The four readily agreed and set off for the tall grasses, Mako and Hu leading the group while Cheung, Jin, and Newt walked behind them. 

“So I take it you live in Sladehall End?” asked Hu once they’d reached the meadow, first looking at Mako before glancing back at Newt. 

“You are correct,” replied Mako, plucking a leaf off the low-hanging tree that they passed under. “I live with my father at Bridewater. Of course, Newton lives with us there as well.” 

Hu nodded. “I believe we passed that general area on our way into town. It was quite beautiful, as is all of the Sladehall End that we have had the privilege of seeing.” 

“I must agree, though I am rather biased,” said Mako, stepping carefully through the tall grass.

“Well, perhaps we may have the opportunity of visiting Bridewater at some point in the future and making an opinion of our own, if Mr. Mori would approve it,” said Hu, glancing over at Mako. 

“Perhaps you might,” she said back with a ringing laugh, “though my father isn’t Mr. Mori. His name is Marshal Pentecost.” 

From beside Newt, Cheung seemed to light up at the name. “Pentecost?” he said, eyebrows raising. “I believe I’ve met a Pentecost in the ranks before.”

Mako looked over her shoulder to glance at the soldier behind her, a curious expression across her face. “I quite believe my father much too old to have served with you.” 

Cheung shook his head. “No, he was rather the young man, I believe even a few years my junior. I only met him briefly, but I distinctly remember the name.” 

Mako’s lips temporarily thinned into a small frown as she listened to the man, before her familiar polite smile returned to her face. “I cannot say if there is any relation,” was all she offered, before changing the conversation. 

Their following chatter largely focused on tales from the militia and details about Sladehall End as the group approached a gnarled old hazelnut tree where the grass grew shorter, a good distance from the town and settled there. They all sat in a circle in the greenery, Newton himself leaning with his back against the greying tree trunk, one leg extended and the other bent at the knee. In his hands he twisted together a few stalks of grass and idly watched them curl and uncurl, all while taking part in the pleasant conversation that the Wei brothers offered. They told stories of their recent travels, apparently having traversed the better half of the country in the past year, and happily answered Mako’s questions about distant towns and hamlets. Newt piped in occasionally, but he was content enough just listening to their charming banter and fiddling with the foliage. 

He had briefly been looking up from the blades of grass that he held between his fingers when, over Hu’s shoulder, Newt’s eye caught the shape of three individuals on horseback approaching their small party. Cheung, who sat closest beside him, clearly saw it as well, as he nudged Jin and pointed in their direction. 

Mako and Hu turned around to glance at the approaching horses who were quickly getting close. Newt strained his eyes to get a better look. 

“Is that Mr. Becket?” Mako said after a few moments of staring, turning to face Newt. 

The closer they got, the more apparent it became that Mako was correct, and that he’d brought Mr. Gottlieb and Miss Ainsworth along with him. Within seconds, the trio were only a few feet away from Newt, Mako, and the Wei brothers. All five of them had quickly stood up from their spots on the grass and turned to face the arrivals.

Becket, who sat atop a sturdy gray gelding that was quite possibly the largest horse Newton had ever seen, quickly hopped out of his saddle and was soon on the ground, facing Mako, a shy smile forming on his lips. Mako herself looked as though she was trying to not appear shocked at his sudden appearance, though to Newton who knew her well, was not succeeding. Neither said a word for a moment, until one of the Wei brothers cleared their throat from behind them. 

Becket was the first to finally break the silence, bowing his head towards the group of them. “Good day, all. Miss Mori, Mr. Geiszler, and…” 

The Wei brothers all introduced themselves accordingly. Becket bowed once more and introduced himself and his guests, though Gottlieb and Miss Ainsworth remained atop their horses. Miss Ainsworth offered a small, kind smile, though Gottlieb could hardly offer a glance. Newt resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his arrogant airs and instead gave his devoted attention to Becket.

“Miss Mori, I hope you are doing well,” said Becket in a hushed tone that made the most civil of questions sound exceedingly affectionate, at least to Newt, who suddenly felt as though he were eavesdropping on the most private of conversations despite it being obvious that he was standing right next to Mako. 

“I am, in fact, Mr. Becket, and I hope the same of you and yours?” said Mako courteously, her hands held behind her back. 

“Indeed, thank you,” replied Becket, quietly, and then neither said nothing, instead just looking at each other with an intensity that made Newton wonder if they could read each other’s minds and were having an entirely separate conversation that they outsiders were not a part of. 

In an attempt to not focus too obviously on the lovebirds before him, his gaze drifted over to where Gottlieb and his horse stood idly. The other gentleman wore a well-tailored brown jacket that was short in the front but draped in the back, and tight cotton trousers that were tucked into a pair of tall, leather riding boots. The horse he rode was not quite as tall as Becket’s but just as impressive; his coat was a shiny black and his mane in an intricate plait. Newt wondered if Gottlieb had thought to thank the stablehand who had presumably braided it, before quickly answering it himself with a _most likely absolutely not._

While Newt and the Wei brothers remained silent out of a complete lack of any idea of what to say, Miss Ainsworth let out a long, audible sigh that seemed to shake Becket out of his enamored state.

“I, um, saw you from across the field and thought I might come over and…” Becket faltered, failing to come up with the words.

Miss Ainsworth interrupted, her tone clearly annoyed. “Were you not going to ask Miss Mori something?” she asked, loudly and abruptly. 

A familiar red hue came across Becket’s pale features as he stammered. “Yes, of course, thank you, Miss Ainsworth.” His fingers immediately went toward the button hole on his riding jacket. As he nervously fidgeted, he brought his attention back to Mako. “Miss Mori, would you do me the honor of joining us for dinner tomorrow evening?”

Mako’s eyes widened in surprise and Newton resisted the urge to shout _I told you so!_ though made a mental note to do so when they were alone, much later that evening.

“I would be honored, Mr. Becket,” she finally said, much to Newt’s relief. 

Becket’s grin could have almost split his face in two as Mako accepted his invitation. “Wonderful,” he said in what had to be presumably the calmest voice he could muster. 

“You are also welcome to join, Mr. Geiszler,” said Miss Ainsworth from atop her horse, to Newt’s complete shock. As his head snapped from staring at Mako and Becket to look at her, he saw that she was leisurely plaiting the white mane of her small palomino mare, not acknowledging him at all as she leaned over her horse’s neck. As he gaped at her, he also caught a glimpse of Gottlieb’s eyes bulging out of his head as he glared at his female companion. 

The idea of spending an entire dinner with _him_ seemed like the absolute worst hell he could have potentially imagined, and though Mako looked at him eagerly to accept, Newton knew he could not, no matter how desperately he wanted to see that Bolton library. 

Rather than look at Becket or Miss Ainsworth, Newt stared directly at Gottlieb. “As much as I would like to accept your invitation, Miss Ainsworth, I do not believe that it would be very appropriate for me to attend such a gathering amongst members of our society that are as such elevated above my position,” said Newt, calmly yet loudly, never faltering from maintaining eye contact with Gottlieb, who had now turned to face him from three feet above him with an entirely blank stare. 

Both Becket and Mako went to argue with him but Newt put his hand up and before either of them could speak, Miss Ainsworth interjected. “That’s perfectly fine by me. Raleigh, it’s getting rather hot out here and we have a long journey back to the paddock. May we say our farewells and return?”

“Of course, of course,” said Becket hurriedly as he looked at Mako for one last moment and then headed back to his horse. 

“I look forward to seeing you tomorrow evening, Miss Mori,” said Becket as he adjusted his boots in his stirrups and took up his reins once more. 

“And I, the same,” replied Mako, curtsying. The three Wei brothers also bowed towards the departing trio on horseback, and Newt halfheartedly followed suit. 

Soon, they were gone, and the five of them were left on their own once more. Though they attempted to reinstate their casual conversation from earlier, it soon became apparent that they all, too, were beginning to feel the heat that Miss Ainsworth had previously complained of. They all agreed to conclude their activity for the day and thus parted once they all reached the post office once more. 

Each Wei brother kissed the top of Mako’s hand as they departed, which made Mako laugh harder with each proceeding kiss, and promises were made to meet one day again. 

“That was pleasant,” said Mako thoughtfully as they began their journey back to Bridewater. 

“Right,” said Newt, glumly. 


	4. An Evening Out

“They’ve invited you once. I don’t see why they’d change their minds and not allow you to come if I were to ask once more.”

“Please, Mako. It would be incredibly inconsiderate, and, regardless, I would much rather stay home.” 

_"Please,_ Newton, you _cannot_ make me do this on my own tonight. Not with both Miss Ainsworth and Mr. Gottlieb there.” 

“I know, _I know._ I understand, I really do. But I can’t, Mako. I can’t.”

Mako shoved her face into the pillow on the couch and groaned as loud as she could for as long as she could muster, and when she no longer could, she remained there, with her face hidden from view. 

Newt sighed, and sat down on the sofa next to her. He gingerly patted her on the shoulder, but she quickly batted his hand away. 

“Mako, please.” 

Mako finally lifted her face from the pillow and looked at Newton with the saddest-looking eyes she could summon. “Won’t you please reconsider?”

Newt shook his head. “I’ve thought about it, I promise. I can’t, though.”

“Will you just tell me why?” said Mako, exasperated. She ran her fingers through her newly disheveled hair forcefully. 

“I’ve told you, it just wouldn’t be appropriate.” 

“But you’ve never had an issue in the past with accompanying me to the homes of other friendly acquaintances. You’re practically family, Newton, and everyone in Sladehall End knows that.” 

“I know,” said Newt, rubbing the back of his own neck, “but it’s different when it’s your longtime friends and their parents. Mr. Becket and his party aren’t from Sladehall End, you remember. They’re accustomed to different… rules, than you or me.” 

“Well, perhaps it’s time they learn the customs of Sladehall End, no?” countered Mako. “If they are to reside here, after all.” 

“I don’t get the impression that they are very open to the rules of outsiders, unfortunately,” said Newt. He was tired of this arguing, but he had never been good at accepting defeat when he knew he was right. 

“Newton!” groaned Mako, with intentional emphasis. “You are making no sense right now. Do you not remember Miss Ainsworth specifically saying, ‘Hello, Newton. Won’t you _please_ be so gracious as to join us for dinner? Oh pretty, pretty please, Newton?’”

“I don’t believe those were her exact words -” Newt started, before Mako cut him off. 

“Regardless, you were invited, intentionally. Why do you insist that they would be so appalled by the thought of you coming to dinner? I just don’t understand.” 

Newt paused for a moment, taking off his glasses and cleaning off their lenses with the end of his shirt. God, what was he supposed to say back? _I’m sorry, but I seem to have found myself an arch-nemesis in a wealthy stranger who, you see, I’d actually quite looked forward to meeting at one point, but no, he is_ positively _dreadful, and hates me, which is fair, as I also hate him, for reasons not entirely clear but nonetheless very certain._

“Newton!” Mako said sternly, waving her hand in his face to get his attention.

Newt looked up from where he had been polishing his lenses and put his glasses back on. “Mako, it’s… complicated.”

“Well, explain it to me, then,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not dumb.”

“No, you aren’t. Obviously not. But, you see,” Newt stammered. Mako simply stared on at him, unrelenting. 

“It’s not Mr. Becket or Miss Ainsworth that I’m worried about,” he continued, struggling for the right words. “It’s just. Just. I don’t think that Mr. Gottlieb would like for me to be there.” 

Mako rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand what you have against Mr. Gottlieb. I mean, I agree that he is a terrible bore and rather snotty and maybe a touch horrible, but I don’t see why you should take it so personally. You haven’t even exchanged a word with the man.”

Newt fell silent, shoulders deflating, and Mako seemed to notice. “Newton, have you spoken with Mr. Gottlieb?” she asked slowly, a newfound curiosity forming in her eyes. 

“No, of course not.” He absolutely could not tell Mako about the verbal altercation with Mr. Gottlieb and Miss Ainsworth without telling her of the conversation that Tendo and he had overheard, and to explain that would require him to tell her of the slights that Mr. Gottlieb had said about Mako’s friends and family, and every possible outcome of that discussion would have terrible consequences. He, in particular, feared the one where Mako immediately saddled her horse and rode to the Bolton estate with a hunting rifle and took no prisoners.

Yeah, that could _not_ happen.

Mako just continued to look at him, and Newt shook his head. _"No,_ Mako. We simply do not get along and it has been made clear that he finds my presence unfavorable, and I just do not wish to be in his company tonight, and that is final.”

They simply stared at one another for the following few seconds, until Mako finally broke her focus and laid back down on the couch, closing her eyes. “Is there anything, at all, that I could do to convince you otherwise?”

“I’m afraid not, unfortunately.” 

A defeated sigh escaped Mako’s lips, which gave Newt a twinge of pain in his chest. He really did, in his heart of hearts, want to accompany Mako this evening to the dinner at the Becket estate, as all best friends want to fulfill the wishes of their other halves, and he knew he would never have a better friend than Mako. 

He desperately wanted to help with all he could to see that she and Becket were together. What wasn’t to like about the beautiful gentleman with perfect manners, a good sense of humor, a kind soul, and more money than God that the woman who was practically your baby sister intended to bring home? Even moreso, Mako seemed to actually like the man, which, as anyone who was familiar with her independent spirit would know, was a rarity in and of itself.

As both her friend and occasional mentor, he knew that such a pairing was in her best interest, and he wanted to do all he could to ensure its success. 

For that reason, he knew that he most certainly could _not_ jeopardize it by accompanying her to the Bolton estate and potentially causing a mockery of her in front of Becket’s apparent best friend (for what reason, the higher powers that be had not yet bestowed that wisdom upon Newton, but he could not imagine.) 

“I’m sorry, Mako.”

Mako opened her eyes back up after a few seconds and turned to look at Newt, offering him a sad, small smile. 

“It’s alright. I won’t pretend to understand your reasons, but I cannot hold it against you.”

Newt took her hand in his and patted it softly. “Thank you,” he said, gently, returning her smile. 

She squeezed his hand and, after a moment, her familiar glisten returned to her eyes, and she spoke. “Can you at least do me one favor, if you will not come tonight?”

Newt laughed. “I will say yes now, though I reserve the right to retract my compliance based on the absurdity of the request after it has been revealed.” 

Mako grinned. “Will you at least help me figure out what to wear tonight?”

“It would be my pleasure.” 

* * *

After an hour of trying on gowns and skirts, Mako had finally settled on a white dress that had been trimmed with a light blue ribbon that matched the one to be tied around her waist. Halfway through, her lady’s maid, Rose, a kind, blonde girl a few years Mako’s senior, had entered with the intention of dressing her lady for the evening, but Newt had shooed her away. Rose had eagerly accepted the offer of a night off, so it was no problem.

After having helped her curl her hair and apply her make-up, Newt was working on lacing up Mako’s dress from the back when she suddenly spoke. 

“Does that look like a storm cloud to you?”

Newt looked up from the laces towards the window they were facing, where a dark cloud had formed far in the distance. 

“I hate to say that it does,” said Newt. 

Mako twisted her head around until she could see him. “Do you think that, if I were to leave in only a few minutes, that I could beat the storm and make it to Becket’s in time?”

Newt quickly considered the distance of the storm, the cloud’s shape, the distance between Bridewater and the Bolton estate, and the direction that it all seemed to be going. After figuring the math in his head, he shrugged. “I would say there’s roughly a 65% chance that you could make it, if you left in under five minutes and took your father’s fastest horse.” 

Mako considered the odds in under a second, and then turned back to face the window straight on. “All right, you tighten me in as quickly as you can, then I will dress myself the rest of the way, and you go get a stablehand to saddle up Romeo, as fast as you can. Okay?” 

“Okay,” said Newt, beginning to tighten the laces once more. 

“Quickly!” shouted Mako, and Newt jerked at the strings with all his strength. “Perfect! Now tie, and go!”

Newt did as he was told, then flew down the stairs to reach the stablehand.

* * *

With Mako being gone for the evening and the Marshal having no requests of him, Newt decided to spend the night out and headed towards town. The rain still came down on his walk in, though Newt had brought an umbrella that bore most of the downpour. He wondered how Mako had got on, and hoped that the somewhat favorable odds had been enough. 

Once he reached the city square, he walked towards the local tavern, a dimly-lit and heavily frequented establishment known as the Laughing Diplomat.

Newt peered in through the windows, scanning the bar for who sat before it and who stood behind. After a few passes, he reconciled that Tendo was not there, which meant he was more than likely in his apartment above the tailor’s shop. Thus, he trudged forward down the street until he reached the door that led to the stairs to Tendo’s unit. He shook out his umbrella the best he could and folded it inwards, then opened the door and headed upstairs. 

He quickly reached the door that he knew to be Tendo’s and went to knock, until he heard the commotion inside. It sounded as though something inside were being thrown about, or rather, many things. 

Was he about to walk in on a robbery? Newt stood there with his fist raised to knock on the door, but didn’t make the move.

_God, who would want to rob Tendo?_ The man had nothing to his name besides a bunch of deeply treasured junk and a handful of stolen dishes that he’d nicked from a past employer who Tendo claimed had judged him unfairly. 

Well, he couldn’t just let someone rob Tendo blind, he supposed unenthusiastically. He’d better step in, hadn’t he? That would be the right thing to do.

_Or the stupid thing?_

Newt confused the two incessantly and he presumed that this moment would be one of those instances as well. 

_Shit._ Extremely conscious of each passing moment, he finally acknowledged that he might as well stop standing here and do something. 

Tendo, inarguably, would owe him a very tall drink after this all was over. 

Newt tightened his jaw and made himself as tall as his five foot seven stature allowed him. With one last puff of his chest, he put his hand on the door handle and turned it. 

_“You don’t lock your door!?”_ came a voice that was distinctly not Tendo’s.

Newt hadn’t realized he was closing his eyes until he heard the exclamation, and upon opening them was greeted with the image of an entirely naked Tendo sprawled out on an empty kitchen table underneath a partially clad soldier whose face Newt recognized immediately. 

“Cheung?” said Newt exclaimed as the soldier jumped off of Tendo and scrambled to find his trousers. 

The soldier looked up and met Newt’s eyes. “At your service,” he said, out of breath, as he shoved himself into his pant legs. 

Tendo remained unphased on the table, taking his time in looking over at Newton. “Relax, darling. Newton’s as gay as you or I or King James.” 

Newton scoffed, though didn’t see any point in arguing. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said with little apology, glaring at Tendo.

“It’s rather alright,” sighed Tendo as he finally raised himself up on his elbows and fully faced Newton, who was still avoiding looking at him below the shoulders. “Though, I do usually prefer for my guests to knock, especially when they don’t have an appointment.” As he said the last bit, he raised one dark eyebrow at Newton.

“I thought you were being robbed,” explained Newt, looking towards the heap of plates, books, and unlit candlesticks that haphazardly surrounded the floor of the table that Tendo occupied. 

_Well,_ Newt thought to himself, _that explained that, at least._

Tendo grinned and hopped off the table and went towards Newt, planting a kiss on his cheek, causing Newt to gag. “My charming prince, coming to my rescue! I always knew you adored me, Newton, no matter how much you dissent.” 

“If you adore me as you say, won’t you please put some clothes on?” said Newt, pulling away from his friend. 

“As you wish, my love,” said Tendo, obliging. He reached for the lump of clothes that sat on a crate of potatoes on the floor and began dressing, paying no attention to Newt as he set about the process. 

Cheung, who was now completely dressed, coughed loudly from the corner of the room, and Newt suddenly remembered that he was there. 

“Good to see you again,” offered Newt with an apologetic smile. 

“You as well, Newton.” The soldier paused for a moment before opening his mouth once more to speak quietly; “I hate to ask this of you, but might you do me a favor and not -”

Newt shushed him with his hand. “Needn’t worry. I won’t mention it to anyone.” 

Cheung nodded fervently. “Thank you, sir.” 

“Please, don’t call me sir. I’m just a tutor, and a country one at that.” 

“That’s nothing to scoff at, sir,” said Cheung, before quickly adding, “I mean, Newton.” 

Newt thanked him wordlessly with a smile. 

Tendo, who was now dressed in a loose-fitting pair of tan pants and a white shirt that remained largely unbuttoned and entirely untucked, clapped his hands. “Now that our plans for the evening have changed, would any of you care for some tea?” 

“Yes, thank you,” said Newt, and Cheung agreed, and Tendo turned to fill the kettle and get the water going. 

Newt and Cheung eventually found themselves on the small, moth-eaten couch that stood only a few feet from the kitchen in Tendo’s cramped apartment. After a few minutes of idle chatter, the tea was ready, and Tendo poured out three cups halfway, filling the remainder of the space with a generous portion of rum. Newt and Cheung readily accepted theirs when offered, and soon all three sat in a circle after Tendo pulled out a chair from the warzone that was the vicinity of the kitchen table.

“So, boys,” started Tendo, cupping his drink in his hands, “you still haven’t told me how you gentlemen know each other.” 

Cheung spoke first. “Only superficially, really. We met each other in town yesterday, when I was with my brothers and he was with Miss Mori.” 

“Ah, yes, the glamorous Miss Mori,” said Tendo, taking a swig from his teacup. 

“Very much so,” agreed Cheung. Turning to Newt, he continued. “My brother Hu was quite fond of her. He spoke of nothing else for the rest of the evening.”

“It’s hard to meet Mako and not be charmed,” said Newt with a smile. 

“You’re quite right about that,” concurred Cheung. “I must ask, do you know if she is available, at present? My brother would very much like to see more of her.” 

Newt shook his head. “I’m afraid to say that I do believe she is currently being sought after by another, unfortunately.” 

Cheung let out a small sigh and nodded. “I figured as much, when I overheard the conversation between her and the gentleman on the grey gelding. Well, I can at least inform him.” 

Tendo’s eyes lit up at the mention of a gentleman on horseback, and turned his head to Newt. “Do tell.” 

“Would you like to take a guess?” asked Newt, taking a sip of his spiked tea. 

“Need I even?” said Tendo, now leaning his body in the direction of Newt. “Becket and Mako had a conversation yesterday?”

Newt nodded. “Indeed they did. They came across our party while we were out in the meadow and offered an invitation to Mako to a dinner tonight.” 

“And you were prepared to sit on this marvelous news!” said Tendo, laughing. “The brains and beauty of Sladehall End, married off to the richest man in town. As it should be!” Tendo raised his glass in mock cheers, and swallowed the rest of its contents. 

“It’s not an engagement, Tendo, so don’t go around telling people that,” said Newt carefully. “It’s simply a dinner.” 

“A dinner which, if I’m not mistaken, you were also invited to partake, Newton?” piped in Cheung from the outskirts of the conversation. “Why did you decline?” 

“They invited _you?”_ shrieked Tendo like a schoolgirl, to which Newt immediately threw a dingy couch pillow in his direction. 

“Quiet down. And yes, they did, for whatever reason.” 

Tendo, gathering himself ineffectively, spoke. “They? Who did?”

“Miss Ainsworth, to be precise, though Becket defended the invitation after I declined.” 

“Well? Why’d you say no, then?” asked Tendo, bewildered at the sudden outbreak of news. 

“Please,” said Newt, exasperated. “Is it really such a wonder that I would not wish to dine with Mr. Gottlieb, after all that occurred at the assembly halls?” 

Tendo shrugged. “If your Miss Mori is to marry that Mr. Becket at some point, and don’t deny it, it very well might happen, you will likely have to get used to Mr. Gottlieb being around.”

“It’s not like I’ll be seeing much of her after she marries,” said Newt, hoping that he’d masked the faint sadness that he felt when uttering that statement. 

“I know, I know. But there will be an engagement, and a wedding, and, if you are to stay with the Marshal after Mako leaves, holidays and extended visits and so forth. It is better that you start agreeing with him now.”

“Tendo,” started Newt, sighing. “I understand your concern, but I don’t believe that to ever be possible. There simply will never be the potential for agreement between that man and myself.” 

Tendo laughed and reached behind his chair for the bottle of rum, pouring some into his glass before drinking directly from the bottle. Newt shoved his teacup in his direction for a top-off after he’d finished, and Tendo obliged. 

“Has anyone ever told you, my dearest friend,” said Tendo, leaning in towards him with a serious expression on his face, “that you are a victim of pride?”

_"Me?_ A proud country tutor? Have you ever heard of such a thing, Cheung?”

Cheung, who had long lost the direction of the conversation, offered a meek, uncertain chuckle. 

“The proudest, gayest country tutor in all of northern England,” said Tendo, before he roared with laughter until tears came from his eyes. “That’s you, Newton Geiszler. _Oh_ , is that you!”

Newt couldn’t help but laugh too, and Cheung soon did too, merely at the sight of the two fools, and soon all three were so drunk and happy that they forgot their previous conversation and spent the rest of the evening drinking rum like it was old Lady Corrigan’s champagne and singing all the old sailing songs in their repertoire, until it was finally agreed by all to retire for the night. 

Newt skipped home in the now rainless evening, and, though drunk, was careful to not step on any of the vocal toads that had sought solace in the new rain puddles that dotted the road. 

Sooner than he realized, he found himself in his bed, the small window in his private quarters left open to let in the cool breeze and rid the room of its dampness. 

As he fell into sleep, his drunken mind was consumed with visions of very, very brown eyes and shiny black horses until all was hushed to silence by rest and forgotten by morning.


	5. Promises

It wasn’t until mid-morning the next day that Mako returned on Romeo Blue. Newt had been watching for her from their old chestnut tree and had leapt down to greet her as soon as she dismounted. 

Mako pushed back the hood of her bonnet and dusted her dress off while Newton dutifully waited to pounce on her with his questions. 

Finally, Mako seemed to be finished, and the stablehand led the horse away, back towards the pasture. Unable to hold back any longer, Newt spoke suddenly and quickly. 

“Did you manage to get there before the rain?”

Mako nodded. “Yes, though it took a lot of pushing Romeo to go faster. I’m sure he’ll be glad to rest in his familiar stall. I figured it would be easier on him to spend the night than make him come back late in the evening, and they invited me anyhow.” 

Newt was relieved. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. Now, how was it?”

Mako shrugged her left shoulder coyly, giving away nothing on her face. “Well, they served beef, which you know I don’t usually care for -”

“You know what I meant,” said Newt, nudging her in the waist with his elbow as they walked towards the main house. 

“It was fine, Newton,” was the only answer she gave as she kept going straight forward.

For Newt, the answer simply would not do. He spread his arm out so as to block her path forward, and they both stopped in their tracks. “Right, going to need more information than that, thank you.”

Mako laughed and pushed his arm away playfully. “If I told you I had a lovely time, would you let me go back to my quarters?”

Newt wasn’t quite convinced. “They were kind to you, yes?”

“Of course they were. In fact, they could not have been kinder hosts.”

“All of them?” asked Newt, an eyebrow raised. He found that difficult to believe.

“Well, Vanessa and Becket were. Mr. Gottlieb was still as quiet as ever, though he at least acknowledged that I existed.”

Just as he’d suspected. He couldn’t imagine how poorly it might have gone had he decided to oblige Mako and come with; certainly Gottlieb would have been more eager to reveal his rudeness in front of her had he accompanied her. 

_Wait._

“Vanessa?” asked Newt, backtracking. 

“Miss Ainsworth, Vanessa, what have you,” said Mako, shrugging.

Newt’s shock read on his face. “Oh, you’re on a first name basis with Miss Ainsworth, are you, now?”

Mako laughed. “Now, don’t be getting jealous. All I said was that she was a kind host.”

Newt scoffed. “I’m not jealous. I’m simply surprised by the development of your apparent affection for one another.”

“Heaven forbid, I be polite to the outside world,” teased Mako before she began to run ahead of Newt, sprinting towards the house. 

Newt thought about chasing after her, but decided against it. 

* * *

Four days had passed since Mako had dined at the Bolton estate when Newt found himself back in argument with Mako again, though his tender sympathy from their last disagreement was unfound here. 

“You. Swore.”

“Mako, please -”

“I will absolutely hear none of it. You promised me, a very long time ago, but a promise nonetheless. You must.”

_"Mako - "_

Mako stopped him. “Newton.”

He groaned. They had been at this for almost half an hour, and as bad of an idea as he knew her proposal was, he had, after all, made a promise to his student, albeit many years ago, and he was a man of his word, most of the time, and, God, it did sound like fun, didn’t it? He hated to admit it, but it did.

Shit. He might as well end the argument now. Perhaps it was her turn to win one, after all.

“Fine.”

Mako kicked her legs in excitement from her spot on their old favorite chestnut tree. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she squealed.

Newt ignored her from his spot on the ground where he leaned against the tree. “Can you pass me a cigarette?” he said, instead of acknowledging her glee.

Mako readily assisted him, eagerly reaching into the tawny owl hole in the trunk and tossing the entire pack towards him. 

“Tonight is the absolute perfect evening for it,” said Mako, full of sudden energy. “Father will be out in London all evening for Heaven knows what reason and taken Langston with him, and old Mrs. Dramouth is gone visiting her sister in Breckensfield, and you know that Rose and the stablehands won’t breathe a word to anyone.”

Newt couldn’t deny it; she was right, after all. It was the perfect opportunity to take part in the worst idea ever had: sneaking Mako off Bridewater for her first ever adventure to the local tavern.

When Mako had been no more than fifteen, she had begged Newt to sneak her out to the pub when her father had gone on a rare overnight journey. Newt, at the time, made the mistake of promising her that he would do so, but only after she had turned eighteen. However, seeing that Mako was already twenty, Newt thought that he’d long gotten off the hook for his offer. Unfortunately, it seemed that Mako had simply been holding onto it for later use, rather than having forgotten about it entirely. 

“You do realize that if any word of this got out to your father, I would be immediately fired and he would never let you out of the house again, yes?”

Mako brushed off his concerns. “No one in town will recognize me,” she argued. 

Newt turned to look up at her and lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not sure why you suspect that one of the well-off ladies in town showing up at the local servant’s pub is a normal occurrence, but I can assure you it’s not.” 

Mako pursed her lips for a moment, as though she hadn’t thought of that. After a few seconds of careful consideration, her face lit up with an idea. “What if I were to borrow one of Rose’s uniforms? We are the same size, I reckon, and I don’t think many would recognize me by my face, with the exception of your companion, Mr. Choi.” 

Newt thought about her proposal. “Yes, that might work. We needn’t worry about Tendo, though. He’ll be good for it.”

Mako beamed. “Wonderful! I’ll fetch Rose as soon as we’re done here and she can transform me into her, and then we can meet at eight and be on our way into town.”

Newt knew that this would be his last opportunity to rescind his compliance and debated doing so. The odds that any of this would work out were perhaps not none, but certainly not high, either. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said that it all had the potential to result in him getting sacked, and as kind as the Marshal had been over the past nine years, he wouldn’t have blamed him if he sent him off without a reference upon finding out. 

And for what? For Mako to take part in Newt’s world, the one of common people drinking wretched, watered-down alcohol in a damp building that allowed for little personal space? He couldn’t frankly imagine why she wanted to go in the first place.

Yet, it was a promise that Newt had made, though years ago under perhaps unenthusiastic circumstances, but a promise nonetheless, and the minute Newt began breaking his promises to his dearest friends was the one that Newt would have to begin doubting in everything he valued about himself, and he simply didn’t have time for that right now. 

And _God,_ he couldn’t stop thinking about how it _did_ sound like a bit of fun, and much like Mako, Newt was attracted to a good time like a moth to the flame.

“Fine,” sighed Newt, certain that he was entirely unprepared for whatever was to come this evening.

* * *

While Newt worked on swearing the other staff members to secrecy (including offering favors to two of the five stablehands who stubbornly required bribes to keep their mouths shut), Rose, who had agreed to loan Mako one of her dresses for the night, readied her lady. 

By the time the clock struck eight, Newt was dressed and as prepared as he could be for the illicit endeavors of the evening. He waited below the staircase that led up to Mako’s room, finding himself pacing back and forth nervously as each second passed. 

“This is a _terrible_ idea,” he said to himself as he walked back and forth across the floor, hands clasped behind his back. “I’m going to lose my job, and Rose will, too, and Mako will never be allowed out of the house again, and she will never see Becket and they won’t be married and Mako will be heartbroken, and it’ll all be my fault. This is a _terrible idea.”_

As he bemoaned to himself, he suddenly heard a heel click against the top stair, then another. He stopped pacing and turned to look, upon which he saw both young women descending down the stairs. 

Mako had fit herself into Rose’s maid uniform, a simple, long-sleeved black dress made of French twill, her hair piled back into a tidy bun atop her head and covered by a plain white bonnet. As she headed towards him, Newt found himself startled by how well she had disguised herself. Even as one of her oldest friends, he’d had to take a double glance to recognize her. Behind her, Rose beamed, clearly proud of her work. 

“Well done, Rose,” whistled Newt as they both reached the bottom step. Rose giggled and gave him a curtsy as she landed.

“Why, thank you, Newton,” she laughed. 

“Aren’t you going to tell me I look beautiful?” teased Mako, fluttering her lashes dramatically from beneath her bonnet. 

“Actually,” said Newt, stepping towards her, “I was rather going to say that you looked exceptionally plain and ordinary this evening, which I believe to be an even more valuable compliment.” 

Mako grinned and took him by the arm. “Why, thank you, kind sir,” she said as she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him. 

Newt could feel his nerves ease up and his devious side began to rise to the surface, no matter how hard he tried to push it back down. 

This was a _terrible_ idea. A terribly fun, terrible idea. 

Mako looked back over her shoulder at Rose, who still stood by the stairs. “You know, you’re more than welcome to join, if you’d like.”

Rose shook her head. “Oh, no, miss. I’d rather stay back.”

“Okay, okay,” sang Mako as she tugged at Newt’s arm to start walking. “We’ll see you later tonight, alright?”

“See you then, miss,” said Rose from behind them as Newt and Mako left through the entrance hall.

The pair exited out into the night like two unsuspecting servants and made their way towards town. The sun had only just begun to set but their time in the light was limited, so they took off with a quick pace into the night, laughing and teasing all the way.


	6. A Drink and a Smoke

They managed to enter town before complete darkness enveloped them and soon they arrived at the entrance to the Laughing Diplomat. Newt peered in the windows before they entered, gathering that it was one of the evenings where Tendo had decided to step in as bartender, as he was, at present, behind the bar chatting up a pair of blonde soldiers in red uniforms who sat on the stools. 

Newt grabbed the handle of the heavy walnut door to the pub and heaved it open, allowing Mako to enter before him. She held her face down so that, unless one looked at her straight on, you would only see the white of her maid’s bonnet. Letting the door close behind him, he placed his hand on her upper back and directed her towards the two empty stools next to the soldiers and Tendo. 

Before they could take their seats, Tendo’s attention was immediately taken away from the soldiers and placed onto Newt. His face lit up upon recognition.

“Newton!” he exclaimed, whipping the towel he’d been holding onto his shoulder. Looking over at Mako, he opened his mouth to say something, but Newt stopped him as he abruptly brought a finger to his lips in a plea of silence. “And,” Tendo continued, not entirely understanding but gathering as much as he needed to know for now, “his mysterious, exquisite friend.” 

“Indeed,” said Newt, grateful for both Tendo’s quickness and innate aptitude for avoiding trouble. He took the seat on the two men’s left, and Mako took the empty stool to his right.

Tendo turned to the two blonde soldiers. “Hey, do you see those girls over there?” He pointed towards a pair of dairy girls who sat at a table ten feet away. The soldiers turned to look, then met Tendo’s face once more and nodded. 

“Well, they’ve been looking at you two all evening. You ought to go try and make conversation with ‘em,” said Tendo, eyes widening with seriousness. 

“Really?” said the soldier on the left, looking at his friend, who shrugged. 

“I swear on my mother,” said Tendo, placing his hand over his chest.

The soldiers looked at one another for a second before getting up and heading towards the girls, who greeted them with a smile. 

Newt looked at Tendo with an eyebrow raised. “You despise your mother.” 

Tendo shrugged and lifted a glass of whiskey that he’d hidden behind the bar. “So? Regardless, they’ve been eyeing them.”

He promptly began pouring them both a drink without asking what they wanted, and soon they each had an identical glass of whiskey like his, which they had accepted without contest. 

“So,” said Tendo, propping himself up on his elbows as he leaned in towards them. “Might I ask what is happening with you two this evening, and to what we owe the pleasure of having a lady such as yourself in an establishment such as this?” 

Newt opened his mouth to speak, but Mako acted sooner. “You see, Tendo,” she started in a low voice, mirroring Tendo as she leaned across the bar towards him until she was only inches away from him. “Your friend, Newton here? He made me a promise a few years ago that I have only just now had the opportunity to force him to act upon, and tonight, he is my gentleman companion for a night out on the town.” 

Tendo nodded as if he was processing the information and pulled back until he was standing straight up again. “Well, then,” he said before returning his grin back to his face. “I suppose we ought to cheers our good friend Newton here for being a man of his word.” 

“I think we shall,” said Mako, laughing as she raised her glass. Tendo and Newt followed suit. The sound of clinking glass rang in the air amidst the lively chatter of the rest of the patrons. 

“So, Tendo,” began Mako after taking a drink. “Do you work here, as well as for the Longshires?”

“Not in so many words,” answered Tendo. “I simply tend to find myself on this side almost as much as I do on your side.” 

Mako cocked her head and looked to Newt, not quite understanding. Newt, quite frankly, didn’t have much more of an answer for her than that and opened his mouth to tell her so, when suddenly her face began to glow. Newt furrowed his brow, unsure of what was going on until he realized that someone had taken the empty seat to his left. 

Newt turned on his stool and was taken aback when he was suddenly face-to-face with Becket, adorning an unassuming black coat and a pleasant expression. 

Always quick on his feet, Newt simply sputtered, “Mr. Becket!” as he stared dumbfounded at the unexpected arrival.

Becket smiled at him. “Hello, Newton.”

As overwhelmed as Newt was in his own surprise, he also recognized with swiftness that Becket himself did not seem shocked at all to see him; in fact, he seemed to have… expected to see him. 

Newt whipped his head around to face Mako. “You tricked me,” he whispered sharply, under his breath. 

Mako only responded with an amused look as she leaned across him to greet Becket. “Hello!” she said, beaming.

Becket returned the glow. “Hello, Mako,” he said, softly. 

As Becket leaned towards the bar to look around Newt, he had the unfortunate realization that the gentleman had not come alone. No, the second seat that had been left empty by the blonde soldiers was occupied by a stiff-looking Mr. Gottlieb who plainly looked as though he would rather be _anywhere_ else. 

_Fuck._

Just as quickly as Becket and Gottlieb had appeared, Newt felt a hand clasp his shoulder. He jerked backwards, perhaps more aggressively than necessary, until he met the eyes of Cheung, who stood between Jin and Hu.

Cheung seemed startled by Newt’s reaction and quickly drew his hand back. “Sorry, Newton. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Newt shook his head and tried his hardest to take a deep breath. “No, no, no, my apologies, Cheung. I’m simply on edge,” he said, more flatly than intended, so he tacked on a forced smile at the end.

The sudden crowd around the bar caused Mako to speak loudly over all of them. “Shall we all move towards a table?” she offered, gesturing in the direction of a large, empty one close by. 

The group all agreed, and, after Tendo had poured them all a drink, headed towards the table. Unexpectedly, Tendo had joined them as well, and brought along a couple of bottles with him. When Newt looked at them, Tendo brushed him off. “They’ll put it on my tab,” he assured him, and Newt had the good sense not to question it any further. 

Soon, they had all sat down. Mako sat between Hu and Becket. Jin sat to the other side of Hu, and then Tendo, followed by Cheung, then Newt, and then, to Newt’s distaste, Gottlieb. 

Newt immediately faced his back to Gottlieb and looked at Cheung. “I am sorry for that, again,” said Newt, taking a very long drink of his whiskey. 

Cheung shook his head. “No, it was my fault entirely. I approached you from behind with no warning; it’s no wonder I startled you.

“No, no,” said Newt. “Last night. For… startling… you, I suppose.” 

Cheung blushed and took a drink himself. “Really, Newt, there’s no need for any apology. It ended up being a wonderful evening.”

Newt grinned. “It did, didn’t it?”

“Certainly. You did get home safe, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “I did, and you?”

“I did,” said Cheung. The redness that had formed over the bridge of his nose only deepened. “Thank you,” he added, looking into his glass. 

“Of course,” said Newt, softly. Cheung’s eyes raised to meet Newt’s, and Newt winked, which caused Cheung to laugh. 

Behind him, he could hear Gottlieb clear his throat. Even such a simple action caused Newt’s hairs to rise, and he directed himself even further towards Cheung. 

“So, soldier,” said Newt. “May I ask you something I’ve always wanted to ask?”

Cheung chuckled. “If it’s top secret military information, I’m afraid I’ll be unable to answer.” 

“Ah, a soldier’s honor. Respectable,” said Newt, starting to feel the effects of the alcohol he seemed to be constantly consuming at the edges of his mind. 

“I’m afraid not,” said Cheung with feigned apology in his voice. “You see, the problem rather lies in the fact that I am a private and such information is not in my pay grade.”

Newt laughed louder than necessary, and could feel the heat of Gottlieb’s stare at the back of his head. Or, perhaps, it was just the heat of the liquor that had been accumulating within him. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“You still haven’t asked it,” said Cheung, a hint of coyness in his voice. 

“My question,” asked Newt slowly, “is, are your uniforms comfortable?”

“I’ve had worse,” said Cheung, and suddenly his foot was next to Newton’s, shoe pressed against his. 

“I see,” said Newt, nodding. “Is there any way to make them more comfortable?”

“Without taking them off? No,” said Cheung. 

“Interesting,” said Newt, leaning his head on his fist as he leaned against the table. 

“Perhaps you’ll wear one yourself someday,” said Cheung. 

Newt laughed. “I don’t see myself enlisting anytime soon, I’m afraid.” 

“Well, then. It seems as though you’ll simply have to find yourself in the company of a soldier and a uniform he isn’t wearing and try one on yourself sometime.”

Before Newt could respond, Tendo was shoving a bottle of gin between them. 

“Newton!” said Tendo, sharply. 

Newt glared in his direction. “What?”

“Drink this.”

“What, all of it?” said Newt.

Tendo nodded fervently. “Yes. You’re incredibly sober, I can tell.”

Newt rolled his eyes. He certainly didn’t feel sober, though he knew he _should_ be, to take care of Mako. 

_Mako._

He quickly looked over to his forgotten ward, who was doubled over with laughter in a conversation with both Becket and Hu. She certainly looked like she was doing just fine, he mused tentatively. 

Tendo shook the bottle that he still held in front of Newt, bringing his attention back to it. 

He sighed and accepted the bottle, popping its top off and taking a hearty swig, though not its entirety as Tendo had requested. 

If he hadn’t felt drunk before, the mere act of downing that gin made him certainly feel it now, he thought, as his muscles loosened and toes began to tingle. 

And with the same thought that confirmed his inebriation, Newt found himself deciding to turn to his left towards Gottlieb, who seemed startled out of his blank, silent stare at the wall behind them. 

Gottlieb raised an eyebrow at him, as if to ask _What on Earth are you doing?_

Newt responded by shoving the bottle of gin in his chest. He felt the sensation of Gottlieb’s fingers brushing against his as he took the bottle from him, and swallowed the sense of champagne bubbles popping in his stomach that resulted, dismissing it as the gin speaking. 

“Drink it,” Newt found himself saying before he even realized it. “It’ll make you less of a stiff asshole.” 

Before Gottlieb could respond, Newt turned back around to face Cheung who had begun talking across the table to Jin. 

Without thinking, Newt pressed his knee against Cheung’s under the table, which made him sharply end his conversation and turn back to Newt, who simply smiled and took another drink from the glass that was before him, uncertain of whether or not it was even his, and not caring, either. He could hear the faint sound of Gottlieb taking a gulp of liquid behind him, though didn’t care to look and confirm.

* * *

Even if there had been a clock in the Diplomat, Newt wasn’t sure he would be able to read it, given his current state, but his gut told him that more than a few hours had passed since he and Mako had arrived at the pub. 

At the moment, he sat atop the table with his feet dangling off the edge, while Tendo laid his head in Newt’s lap and led the entirety of the bar in a rousing rendition of “Dirty Old Town” with his eyes closed and his arms motioning in the air like a conductor. 

Newt could see out of the corner of his eye that Becket and Mako had found solitude in two seats by the bar and were currently leaning into one another, whispering and giggling and nudging at one another playfully. The Wei brothers and Gottlieb had remained sitting at their table, the brothers talking to the blonde soldiers and dairy girls that had joined them and Gottlieb continuing to sit in silence, though Newt swore that he’d seen him drink from the gin bottle more than a few times. 

“I met my love by the gas s’works s’wall,” slurred Tendo from his resting place on Newt’s lap. “Dreamed a dream by the old canal, I kissed s’my girl by the factory wall. Dirty old s’town, dirty old s’town.”

Newt rustled behind him for any glasses left on the table, and found one a third of the way full with an unidentifiable dark brown liquor. He had nearly gulped it down when he felt Tendo taking the glass from his hand from below. Tendo attempted to pour it in his own mouth, but being upside down, more fell out of his lips than went in, and soon Newt could feel the liquid pour onto his trousers. 

“Alright, I think you’d better sit up,” said Newt, manhandling Tendo off of his lap and forcing him to sit on his rear next to him. He took off his jacket to pat the spots on his trousers dry and then tossed the coat on the table behind him, leaving him in only his white shirt. 

Tendo slung an arm around him and slammed his head onto his shoulder. “Thanks, pal. You’re always s’lookin’ out fo’ me.”

Newt delicately pushed him off and patted him on the head. “No problem, buddy. I’m going to go out for a smoke and some space. Care to join?”

Tendo shook his head and waved him away. “S’no, I’ve got to stay here an’ sing. Ish sh’real important,” he said with authority before diving into a rendition of “Whiskey in the Jar” at full volume and minimal enunciation. 

“Your loss,” said Newt as he found his way to his feet, albeit rather wobbly. He steadied himself against the table for a moment to find his balance.

“I’ll join you,” said another voice at the table. Newt looked up towards the Wei brothers to see which one had spoken, but none of them seemed to be aware of his presence. Confused, he looked around until he saw the face of Gottlieb looking at him expectantly. 

“Oh,” was all Newt said. It appeared that that was all the approval Gottlieb required, as he stood up and began to follow Newt towards the back door of the pub. 

As they exited into the night, Newt was struck by a rush of chill wind, which hit particularly powerfully given his current state of partial undress. It did little to sober him up but it did help him to open his hooded eyes a tad further. 

The door closed behind them and suddenly they were alone outside, and not even the rowdiness of the pub’s interior could make up for the silence that surrounded them. 

Neither seemed to know what to say, but instead simply looked at one another from five feet apart. 

Newt took the opportunity to study the other man, whom he’d previously avoided directly looking at for long periods of time for the entirety of their acquaintance.

His brown hair, though short, was disturbed by the wind and had the slightest sense of disorder to it. As he observed the way it blew in the breeze, he realized that there were entire sections of Gottlieb’s hair that laid at odd angles or stood straight up, seemingly on their own. This almost brought a smile to Newt’s face, as he pictured Gottlieb standing in the mirror in the morning with his usual scowl, endlessly toying with his hair in an attempt to make it reflect the sense of order that he seemed to demand from the rest of his life, and routinely failing. 

Newt found himself imagining Gottlieb licking the palm of his hand and running it over the spots that refused, over and over again until they conceded. Gottlieb staring at himself with the heavily hooded eyes of morning, the deep brown of his pupils only barely visible under the slowly-waning sleep. The soft stubble that had developed overnight still on his face, rough to the touch, ready to be shaved down for the day. 

_Wait, why am I picturing Mr. Gottlieb when he wakes up in the morning?_ Newt thought in horror to himself as soon as he realized what he had been doing. 

Gottlieb’s voice broke the silence of the night. “So, you’re a tutor?” he asked, as awkwardly as any human being, living or dead, had ever before asked Newton that question. 

“Um, yes,” said Newt, gathering himself. “For the past nine years.” 

“Any specialty?” asked Gottlieb. 

_Was he making small talk?_

“Well, yes and no. I teach a little bit of everything. Science, maths, Shakespeare, some of the Romance languages, and the dead ones, and then a general history of England and the world, the works,” said Newt, slowly, not sure why he was revealing such information to Mr. Gottlieb. 

“And you teach all that to Miss Mori?” asked Gottlieb.

_God, what was this? An interrogation?_

“Yes, I do,” said Newt. 

“That’s rather the advanced course load for a lady, isn’t it?”

Newt felt his already warm blood begin to boil. “Traditionally, maybe, though I don’t know why she shouldn’t, even if it isn’t custom.” 

Gottlieb nodded, to Newt’s surprise. “I agree. I find it rather impressive that Miss Mori’s father gave her the opportunity for such an education, and from a male tutor rather than a governess.” Gottlieb turned to look at him, then added, “Not that there’s anything wrong with a governess. I’m just stating that they are uncommon circumstances.”

The percentage of alcohol that Newt consisted of at present made him unable to discern whether or not that was a dig in any way, but he did feel himself untense. “Oh. Right. I agree.” 

“That didn’t answer the question of whether or not you had a speciality.” 

That confirmed for Newt that this was, indeed, an interrogation. Why did Gottlieb suddenly have such interest in the details of his life, after having blatantly demonstrated his dislike for him repeatedly throughout all their past interactions? 

Maybe Tendo had been right. He wasn’t drunk enough. 

As Gottlieb stared at him, Newt remembered he was supposed to answer the question. “Oh, well, I suppose yes. I’ve always particularly liked the sciences.” 

Gottlieb twisted his cane in his hand as he replied, looking towards the ground. The wind picked up speed around them. “Very well. It’s rare to be in the company of a fellow scientist in the country.” 

“And what’s wrong with a country scientist?” snapped Newt. “Simply because we haven’t torn down all of the nature around us that we claim to study?”

Gottlieb continued to not look at him. “So you’re a naturalist?”

“Aren’t we out here to smoke?” said Newt, ignoring his question and instead taking the pack out of his back trouser pocket and removing one. 

“Right,” said Gottlieb, walking towards him. “Might I borrow one?”

Newt obliged begrudgingly and handed Gottlieb a cigarette, who gingerly accepted. Newt fished in his pocket for the opened book of matches. 

Given the current ferocity of the wind, it took two matches before he could get one to stay lit long enough to light his smoke, leaving only one for Gottlieb by the time he was ready to hand them over.

Gottlieb found himself in the same predicament, and even after Newt quietly assisted in trying to block the wind, they went through the remaining match before they could successfully light Gottlieb’s cigarette. 

They both stood there for a moment as Newt’s cigarette burned before Newt had an idea, which he would later reflect on as the Second Great Terrible Mistake of the Evening, after, of course, the Great Mistake of Risking this Ridiculous Evening At All. 

“Here,” said Newt with a sigh, positioning himself directly in front of Gottlieb so that they were toe-to-toe. “Hold your cigarette in your lips, and I’ll do the same, and at the same time, we’ll press them together and both take a drag, and yours will light itself off mine.” 

Gottlieb looked hesitant for a moment, but eventually brought the cigarette to his lips. Newt followed suit. 

Newt had to lean his head back to bring his face close to Gottlieb’s. _He was tall._ Had Newt noticed before? He couldn’t remember. 

Newt held his eyes open as they pressed the ends of their cigarettes together, and realized he was inches away from the other man’s face. 

Gottlieb’s eyes were closed. 

Newt couldn’t help but stare at the shape of his eyelashes against his sharp cheekbones. 

They breathed in together, slowly and simultaneously, and Newt felt chills take over his entire body.

_The wind. It was the wind._

Gottlieb’s eyes opened, and he took the now burning cigarette from his lips, exhaling, but didn’t move any farther away from Newt’s face. 

Newt’s hand removed his own with even thinking, clutching it between his fingers at his hips. 

Newt heard every breath that Gottlieb took from only inches away as they looked at one another. Newt felt his eyes tracing the bones of the other man’s face, the straight line of his nose, the jut of his jaw, the razor-sharp cheekbones that were normally so tense but now seemed relaxed, and more so with every exhale. 

Newt followed the lines of Gottlieb’s face until he was brought back to the gentleman’s eyes, which Newt found to be fixated on his lips. 

Neither moved. 

Newt suddenly felt very exposed in simply his trousers and white shirt that he knew to be far too unbuttoned without having to look, and wished very much that he had not taken off his jacket. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, a simple motion that seemed to wake Gottlieb out of his trance. The other man stumbled back a few steps and seemed to remember his cigarette, as he brought it back up to his lips. 

Neither of theirs had miraculously seemed to go out, and so instead they stood there, not looking at one another, as they smoked in silence until they both finished and headed back inside without saying another single word to the other. Newt headed directly towards the bar and didn’t care to see where Gottlieb ended up. 

Tendo was right. 

He was not drunk enough, not _nearly_ enough.

Not for this, for fuck’s sake. Whatever _this_ was. 


	7. The Morning After

The next thing Newt felt was the warmth of the rising sun on his face as his eyes fluttered awake. And then came the sudden jolt of pain from all corners of his brain and he immediately closed his eyes once more.

“Oh, _shit,"_ groaned Newt, pushing his head further into his pillow and pulling the sheets over his head to cover his face from the relentless sun. 

_What had happened last night?_

How had he gotten home? He presumed he was home, as his blankets felt familiar and the mattress was as hard as he had remembered and the sun, though cruel, was beating from where it should. 

“Oh, good. You’re awake, then,” said a voice from across the room, which caused Newt to forget his headache for the moment and bolt up, eyes wide, to see who had spoken. 

Cheung sat in the wooden chair in the corner of the room with his arms crossed. He wore his red uniform and a cheeky grin as he looked at Newt, who was suddenly aware of the fact that he himself was _very_ shirtless. 

“Cheung,” he started. "You're.. here, then." 

“Good morning to you, too,” the other man laughed. 

“Right, yeah. Good morning, of course,” said Newt who was beginning to remember the headache as pain clouded his mind once more. He tried to push it aside, and kept speaking, unable to not ask Cheung the question that burned inside him. 

“Did we, by chance, do anything? Last night?”

Cheung shook his head. “No, no, we didn’t,” he assured Newt, who, admittedly, felt relief. “I simply offered to help you and Miss Mori home, given your state at the end of the evening.” 

_Mako._ Oh, God, he was a terrible tutor. 

“Mako, she’s home as well, then?” said Newt while he tried to massage away his headache discreetly. 

“Indeed. She was in a tremendously better fashion than yourself by the end of the evening and easily got upstairs herself. I just didn’t feel right about the idea of letting you two walk on your own in the night.” 

“Thank you,” said Newt, and he meant it. “You’ve been a far better friend towards her than I have, clearly.”

Cheung smiled and bowed his head slightly. “It’s my pleasure. I hope you don’t mind that I slept on your floor, but I was rather dreading the walk back by the end of it all. I borrowed some of your sweaters for a pillow and the second quilt from the foot of your bed.” 

“You know, I believe the Americans have rules about not letting soldiers take residence in your quarters without your permission.” 

Cheung laughed. “Thankfully, we are not Americans, then, no?”

“Thankful, indeed,” said Newt with a lazy grin. 

“I can get you some tea, if you’d like,” offered Cheung, nodding his head in the direction of the kitchen. 

“No, no, I’m rather all right,” declined Newt, rubbing his temple. The pounding only increased and all he desired was to lay back down for the next hour or month or so. He considered politely asking Cheung to leave; as much as he loved their harmless flirting, he was really starting to not feel well in more ways than one. However, he couldn’t bring himself to do so before he asked the soldier one more thing. 

“I hate to bother you any further, but I've got to ask...”

“It’s never a bother to chat with you, Newton,” said Cheung, to which Newt felt a blush creep across his own cheeks. “And go ahead.”

“What happened at the end of last night? All I remember is up until I took off my jacket and went out for a smoke.” He declined recalling aloud the few proceeding minutes that he also remembered, those fuzzy few memories that involved a heated conversation and a quietly smoked cigarette. 

“Right,” said Cheung. “Well, to begin, we did manage to bring your jacket home.”

Newt could really kiss the man for that act alone, but let him proceed. 

“In regards to the rest, from what I recall, you and Tendo went through your repertoire of crass drinking songs and you both ended up on top of the bar at one point.”

“You mean behind it, right?” said Newton, wincing. 

Cheung shook his head. “No, unfortunately, I mean on top. Then, later, you offered a fact about the local fauna to anyone who would buy you a drink, which solely consisted of Tendo handing you a bottle, you telling him something indistinguishable about frogs while gulping it down, him taking the bottle away, and then the cycle repeating. If you feel ill this morning, I would say that was to blame.”

Newt could feel his entire body cringe. _“Shit._ And Becket saw that?” God, he would positively _die_ if he’d entirely screwed up Mako’s chances with the man. 

“I believe you’re in the clear in that regard,” said Cheung. “Both he and Mr. Gottlieb departed almost immediately after you returned from outside.”

“Oh,” said Newt. _That was certainly curious._ “Good, I suppose.” 

In a rush he felt a gurgling from the back of his throat, and clasped his hand over his mouth. He flew from the bed to the open window across the room and stuck his head out and let what appeared to be the majority of the contents of yesterday’s food and liquor return to the green, unforgiving earth. 

Cheung was behind him in no time, placing a hand on the small of Newt’s back as he continued to hurl out the window. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked gently. 

As soon as he was able to speak again, Newt shook his head and dismissed his concerns. “No, I can handle it. You’d better be off. Your commander will be wondering what happened to you.”

“Right,” said Cheung. “If you insist.” He headed towards the door.

“Wait,” said Newt, suddenly, his head still hanging out the window. He could hear Cheung stop and turn back towards him without having to look.

“Yes?”

“Thank you, again,” said Newt softly. 

“It is no problem at all, Mr. Geiszler. I hope to see you soon.”

Newt tried to laugh. “Under better circumstances, I hope.” 

Cheung chuckled and said no more, and Newt heard him leave his room.

 _Oh, God._ There it was again.

Newt continued to pay for his sins, praying that it was enough.

* * *

With the main house still being left to the mice for now, Newt and Mako didn’t start their studies until well after noon. Though he had planned for them to revisit the Wars of the Roses that day, given the current circumstances he had instead opted to take class outside in the form of swimming in the crystalline waters of the property’s fresh spring and trying to use his brain as little as possible.

The contrast between the cool water and the hot summer air eased the pain that had consumed Newt’s entire body, so he shedded his shirt and boots and floated on his back in the spring, letting the soft motion of the water drift him across the pool. 

Mako, on the other hand, seemed to feel perfectly fine and dove in and out of the water, collecting flat stones from its bottom and putting them in a pile on the shore, presumably to skip with later. 

“You know,” said Newt, voice echoing off the water, “if I didn’t feel so ill right now, I would be extremely cross with you.”

“Then I no longer feel bad that you feel ill at all,” replied Mako as she arranged her pile of stones. 

“Ha,” said Newt, flatly. “Still, I can’t believe that you tricked me last night.”

“Was it really a trick, though?” said Mako. “Or was it more that I simply neglected to share one small detail?”

“Whatever it was, it wasn’t very nice,” said Newt, a tinge of dejection in his voice. 

Mako stopped fiddling with her stones and swam towards where Newt floated. She popped up from beneath the water only a few inches away from him. 

“You’re right, I know,” said Mako, and Newt could hear the honesty in her voice. “It wasn’t very fair to not tell you, and I apologize for that.”

Newt shifted himself so that he was wading in the water face-to-face with Mako. “You know I would have still taken you, regardless, right?”

Mako laughed and splashed at him. “Let’s not go too far. You didn’t want to take me in the first place, and I believe it’s fair to say that you might have been hesitant to learn that Gottlieb would be there.” 

“That _is_ fair,” Newt conceded, splashing back. She made a good case. 

They went back and forth for a moment until a ceasefire was called. Newt’s hangover was beginning to fade, thanks to the refreshing water and the steady heat of the sun. He decided to submerge himself entirely, folding his legs inward so he sat cross-legged on the bottom of the shallow creek. He opened his eyes under the water and observed the small minnows that flocked between strands of algae. He watched them until he needed to resurface for air, and pushed himself off the pool’s floor until his head broke through the water once more. Mako had returned to her growing pile of stones only a short distance away.

“You know,” started Newt as he rubbed the water out of his eyes, “I’ve been meaning to ask. How did Becket know to come last night? I only agreed to it a few hours before we left.”

Mako didn’t look at him, which Newt suspected was intentional. He could only see the right side of her face as she peered down at her collection. 

“Well, I might have had an inkling when I went for dinner at the Bolton estate the other night that my father, Langston, and Mrs. Dramouth would be out yesterday,” she said carefully, as if she was delicately selecting her words, “and that you _might_ be willing to take me up on that old promise.”

Newt scoffed, incredulously. “So you told Becket to meet you there before you even knew that _you_ would be there?”

Mako still refused to look at him. “Perhaps I had intended to go whether you had agreed to come or not.”

Newt resisted the urge to play her father at the present moment, but every bone in his body wanted to scold her for such a foolish idea. _“Mako -”_

“Spare me the lecture. _I know._ It might have not been the best idea, but…”

“What?” said Newt, lifting an eyebrow. 

Finally, Mako turned to look at him. “I wanted to see him, alone. Away from the parties, from my father, from Vanessa Ainsworth and Mr. Gottlieb hovering over him. Away from everything that reminded me of his ridiculous wealth and how different we are. And I figured this might be the closest that I could get to that.” 

“Mako,” said Newt, a newfound softness in his voice. “You’re not that different. You come from a respectable family and -”

Mako cut him off with a deflated laugh. “The Marshal has no great fortune, and I have even less. My £40 per annum is nothing compared to what they all have over at the Bolton estate, and you know that.”

Newt was silent. She was right, he knew. Though Newt himself was worth almost nothing, at least when it came to his fiscal value, he and Mako were far closer in wealth than either of them were to Becket or his companions. He supposed he hadn’t considered how alienated she, too, must feel by all of them. 

“How did that dinner really go, the other night?” he found himself asking gently. 

Mako’s eyes saddened, though she forced a weak smile onto her lips. “Fine, really. I meant it when I said it.”

Newt didn’t accept that answer so he continued to look at her skeptically. She seemed to take the hint, and eventually continued. 

“I mean, there were many instances in which I felt like I’d been stripped of my own world. Conversations that I could hardly keep up with about society in London, about operas I’d never heard of, and wars in countries I couldn’t point out on a map. Even their servants seemed to be more cultured than I.” She looked at him, quickly, with an apologetic expression. “No offense, of course.”

Newt shook his head. “None taken, though I wish you didn’t feel like that.”

Mako shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

Newt swam over to her so that they were only inches apart. “Maybe it is the truth that they know things that you don’t, but I would bet that there are plenty of things that you can do that they couldn’t even attempt.”

Mako rolled her eyes. “Don’t be silly, Newton.”

“I’m not!” he said earnestly. “I bet none of those bores can climb trees like you can, or swim as well, or run as fast while in a corset and ridiculous skirt, or shoot an arrow while riding horseback at a target twenty feet away, or -”

Mako let out a hoarse laugh. “Ah, yes. The attributes of a finely bred, accomplished young lady.” Newt hoped that the droplets of moisture that he’d just noticed on her cheek were from the spring and not her eyes. 

“Don’t be so severe upon yourself,” said Newt. “That’s not even to mention how clever you are. I happen to think that you are the most interesting and accomplished young woman that I’ve ever met.” 

Mako wiped away at her cheek and smiled at her companion. “Thank you, Newton. You’re always so kind to me.”

“Not kind, just honest,” he said, returning her smile. 

She said nothing as she picked up one of the round stones and fiddled with it between her fingers. 

“You really love him, don’t you?” The words had left Newton’s mouth before he could think about what he was saying, but it was too late. 

Mako looked at him silently before she seemed to find the words. “I suppose I do.”

“You know he loves you back, plain as day?”

Newt half expected Mako to dismiss his last statement, but to his surprise, she responded. 

“I do hope that you are right about that; that I cannot deny.”

Newt grinned. “I am sure of it.”

“You couldn’t be, even if you wanted to,” she laughed, weakly, skipping a stone gently in his direction.

Newt raised his eyebrow at her, catching the stone in his hand and skipping it back. “Or perhaps I simply have eyes.” 

Mako rolled her eyes, catching the returned stone and keeping it in her closed palm. “All right, all right, Don Quixote. I’ll believe it when he tells me himself.”

“He will,” promised Newt, and though he had no way of ensuring it happened himself, he felt confident in his few words. 

“You better hope so,” said Mako, skipping the stone back towards him finally, “or I’ll end up an old maid and never graduate, and you’ll be stuck with me forever.” 

“Perhaps then you might learn to conjugate your Greek,” jibed Newt, already bracing himself for what was coming. Sure enough, an enormous splash suddenly hit Newt’s entire body.

“Oh, I _really_ don’t feel bad that you’re ill now.”


	8. The Word About Town

Soon enough, the Marshal and elder servants returned from their trips and normalcy reigned once more at Bridewater. Newt resumed his teaching of Mako and days passed as they always had. 

It was the end of one such day, over a week since Newt and Mako’s night out, that Newt had been descending the stairs towards the servant’s quarters in the basement when he suddenly felt a hand grab his forearm from the shadows. 

He almost dropped his candle out of fright and was about to shout at the hidden figure when he recognized it to be Rose, a look of distress painted across her white face in the dim light. 

“Newton, I must speak with you,” she said in a hushed yet urgent voice. “Immediately.”

Newt asked no questions as she dragged him by the arm down the stairs, past the servant’s quarters and into the empty kitchen, straight into the walk-in pantry. She shut the door behind him and now it was just the two of them in the dark closet, their faces only lit by the small flame of Newt’s quivering candle.

“Sorry about that,” whispered Rose, finally, as she stood with her back pressed against the closed door. 

“Right, right, it’s fine,” said Newt quietly, “though I wouldn’t mind if you told me what was going on.”

“Of course, sorry.” Even in the minimal light, Newt could read the panic in her eyes. “I have to tell you something that I overheard on my walk back from the tailor’s this afternoon, but I couldn’t have the Marshal or Miss Mori or anyone else overhearing and this was the first moment that I could get you alone.”

“What is it?” asked Newt, unable to help his peaking curiosity at what had distressed Rose so much that it had to be a secret between only them. 

“They’ve..." She looked to be really, actually struggling to speak now. "They've... left Bolton."

"They've - what?" He must not have heard that right. 

"Left Bolton. Sladehall End. All of it."

Okay. So he _had_ heard that right.

"The've _left Bolton?"_

She nodded.

“All of them?”

Another nod.

"They're _\- gone,_ all of them?"

Her nodding was frantic now, as if begging him to grasp what she was saying. Fuck, _he_ wished he could grasp what she was saying.

But what the fuck _did_ she mean, they’d left _Bolton?_

“And they've left for good?”

“For good.”

"Just like that? No more Mr. Becket?"

“As of this morning. He’s set for London with Miss Ainsworth with no intentions to return.” 

Newt’s heart only sank further. “You’re sure of this? Completely sure?”

“I wish I wasn’t,” she sighed, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

He was about to agree with her when he paused for a moment and thought about what she'd just said. “You only mentioned Becket and Ainsworth. Is Gottlieb to remain, then?” 

Rose shook her head. “No. He left last night, separately, though for where, I don’t know.”

“Right,” said Newt, processing. “Not that I care, or anything. I was just wondering." He paused again. "I mean, that's odd, isn't it?”

Rose just looked at him with that petrified expression and said nothing. 

“Right, okay. Clearly Mako and the Marshal know nothing of this,” said Newt, stating the obvious.

Rose nodded. 

“Let’s keep it that way, until the morning. There’s no reason why she shouldn’t have one more night of happiness before this gets out,” he said with a long sigh. _Shit._

“Should I be the one to tell her?” asked Rose, her reluctance poignant in her tone. 

“No, I’ll do it,” said Newt, though he had to admit that he wanted to do it nor more than she seemed to. 

_Fuck._

“Is there anything else I should know, before I tell her?” 

“No. That’s all I know, in the very least.”

Newt nodded, letting out a deep exhale. “Right. Well, thank you for telling me first. It was probably the right thing.”

“Of course, Newton.” With that, she turned to open the pantry door and, after looking to make sure that there was no one looking, they both exited and returned to their respective rooms. 

Newt didn’t bother changing out of his day’s clothes before he collapsed on his bed and stared at the ceiling above him, pressing his fingers against his cheeks and pulling the skin taught. 

Newt hadn’t…. been prepared for this, to say the very least. 

_Fuck!_

How would he even _begin_ to break this news? _“Oh, hello Mako, good morning, how’s the health? How’s the family? Tea's just right today, lovely weather, et cetera, et cetera. Oh, and Becket has entirely deserted Bolton completely out of_ nowhere, _and without saying goodbye apparently or even giving the slightest bit of warning, and you know how I promised you that he definitely felt the same? Well, turns out I’m a complete and utter idiot who apparently can’t read people for shit -”_

Newt sat up straight in his bed. 

“No,” he said aloud, to no one but himself in his empty room. “No, no no no.”

Newton Geiszler was not stupid. Perhaps sometimes his common sense could use some pointers, but Newt was not a fool, and he would not be taken for one. 

Something in this story did not make sense, and he refused to look past it. 

He recalled the first night Becket and Mako had met, when he’d requested a quarter of the evening’s dances and had plainly pined for her from across the room every time she accepted another; when he’d stood there blushing like a tomato as he’d asked Mako to dinner at Bolton, and his boyish exuberance at her acceptance; finally, when they’d all snuck off to the Diplomat, how the two had leaned in towards one another by the end of the night in a private lover’s conversation, surrounded by the crowd yet so content with only attending to each other. 

And that had only been a week ago! A mere _week!_

He absolutely refused to believe that what he’d seen was wrong, because he knew that it _couldn’t_ have been. If that man had not been in love with Mako, then Newt knew absolutely _nothing_ of human nature, and he rejected that idea entirely. 

No.

Something else had happened. 

_Yes,_ that was it. Something else. 

_Someone else?_

Newt hardly entertained the idea that Becket had set eyes on someone else; the affection that he had displayed for Mako was not the fleeting sort, Newt was sure of it. He equally rebuffed the thought that some emergency might have come up. If it had, he wouldn’t have left with no word, not even a letter, to let Mako know that he had gone, and he’d likely have plans to return. 

_No._

_No!_ Someone else _had_ gotten to Becket. Someone who would have been inclined to want Becket to stay as far away from Mako as possible. Someone who would have had to have known of the man’s fondness, who would have reason to dislike her or her family, and who would have to have been close enough to Becket to sway him.

And Newt had an inkling of someone who might just be close enough to Becket at Bolton to sway him, someone known to openly disagree with someone very, very close to Mako. 

Newt stood up at this point and began pacing the few step’s distance across the room, back and forth while his mind dissected the facts known to it. 

Had Gottlieb really disliked him enough to conspire against the union of their two friends? It took Newt little difficulty to suspect that he might; their encounters with each other seemed to veer south with ease, it was true. Perhaps Gottlieb had held him in such disdain that he thought all things touched by him to be tainted, afflicted. 

Or, perhaps, Gottlieb hadn’t cared about him at all, and had simply thought that it would be in Becket’s ill fortune to marry someone so beneath him. While he suspected that Becket himself cared little about things like connections, Gottlieb certainly seemed haughty enough to harbor such feelings. 

Both were equally possible, and Newt’s instincts reminded him that the two needn’t be mutually exclusive; perhaps it had been a combination of the two insults to Gottlieb’s sensibility that had pushed him to insert himself between the two lovers.

_Fuck._

None of this helped him figure out what the _fuck_ to say to Mako in the morning. 

Oh, _God._

Newt got very little sleep that night, to say the least. 

* * *

The morning came to be, and Newt rose with it, his anxieties released from their floodgates the moment his eyes opened. He felt so on edge that he couldn’t even bear to lie in bed a second longer, so as soon as he had dressed and groomed himself for the day, he went to help Mrs. Dramouth in the kitchen to prepare for breakfast, much to her surprise and, Newt suspected, dismay. 

The bell to the Marshal’s room rang within the following hour, and his valet went up to meet him. Newt kept his eyes and ears concentrated on the bell to Mako’s room, waiting for it to ring, though it never seemed to come. 

Mrs. Dramouth had noticed as well and turned to Rose after about half an hour. “Well, I suppose you better go wake her and bring her her tea,” she said with a hint of agitation. Rose did so, though on her way up the stairs with her tray, stopped and turned to look at Newt with worried eyes. Newt tried to look encouraging, though knew himself to be unsuccessful. 

More time passed and eventually Mrs. Dramouth had had it with Newt’s fiddling in the kitchen and threw him out. Unsure of where else to go, he finally decided to venture upstairs, bracing himself as he did so.

He eventually reached the dining room, where the Marshal sat at the head of the table, breakfast laid out before him but untouched. Newt saw his newspaper folded up in front of him, which struck him as odd, given that it was usually the first thing the Marshal went for in the morning. 

The Marshal’s empty stare broke as he noticed Newt in the doorway. 

“Come in, please,” said the Marshal. His voice sounded tired, unusual for this early in the morning. Newt did as he was told and stood next to the table.

“I have been given some unfortunate news this morning,” continued the Marshal, looking down at the untouched eggs and sausages that sat on the plate before him.

Newt wasn’t sure if he was supposed to respond so opted to remain silent, simply standing there awkwardly while he waited for the Marshal to finish. 

“It seems that the Bolton estate is empty once more, and to remain that way,” said the older man finally.

 _Fuck._ “I see, sir,” said Newt, doing his best to feign surprise. 

“Mako has been informed,” said the Marshal with a heavy sigh, “and I think you should go speak to her. She seems to listen to you.”

“Oh,” was all Newt could say. In all the scenarios that he had rehearsed last night, he hadn’t guessed that someone would have had the opportunity to reach Mako first. “Right, sir. I’ll go immediately.”

“Thank you, Newton,” said the Marshal. Newt didn’t wait for him to say anything else before he ascended the stairs towards Mako’s room. 

Her door was closed, but Newt could hear her muffled sobs through the solid mahogany. Gingerly, he turned the brass knob to enter and was met with a view of Rose and Mako sitting on the bed, Mako leaning into her lady’s maid shoulder and heaving with grief. Rose was delicately rubbing her back when she turned to see Newt standing in the doorway. 

“Mako,” started Newt, feeling his own voice crack with just the singular word. 

Mako raised her head from where it had been rested on Rose’s shoulder, her face streaked with tears. The sight alone broke his heart.

“He’s left." 

It was all she said, perhaps all she could say. But it was all she had to say.

“I know,” he said, walking towards the bed. He sat beside her on the opposite side to Rose and placed a hand on Mako’s shoulder. “Your father just told me.”

Rose looked over at him and mouthed a _thank you_ to him, which Mako could not see. Newt gave her the slightest of nods in acknowledgement. 

Mako continued to sob wordlessly and Newt and Rose tried to comfort her to little avail, though neither blamed her. What seemed like an hour of this passed, before Mako had finally cried herself into exhaustion and needed to lie back down. Newt and Rose stayed with her until they believed her to be asleep and then left the room, closing the door behind them. Neither said a word to each other as they parted.

Rose left to tend to the fireplaces on the main floor of the house while Newt descended the two flights back down to the servant’s quarters. He presumed that Mako’s studies would be safely considered cancelled for the day, so instead he returned to the kitchen to find something to eat, though he had little appetite. 

By now, word of Becket’s departure had gone around the house and everyone knew. As Newt grabbed an apple from the bushel on the counter, Mrs. Dramouth turned to him. 

“What a disappointment,” she said, shaking her head. “We’d all gotten so excited down here, thinking about our lady being married off to a rich, landed gentleman.”

Newt bit into the apple and forced himself to swallow it, nodding. “You’re right,” he said. “We were all looking forward to it.”

Mrs. Dramouth sighed, slinging the towel she held in her hand over her shoulder and picking up the Marshal’s breakfast that had been returned downstairs. Newt saw that the Marshal must have finally brought himself to eat a few bites, but little more. “Is she handling it all right, then? I know you two are such silly little friends.” 

“Handling it as well as one would suspect, really. She’s a tough one, though. I'm sure she'll recover.”

“You’re right in that, I suppose. And she’s young, and pretty, at least,” said Mrs. Dramouth as she scraped the food off the plate. “Another will come along soon enough.”

“You’re very right, Mrs. Dramouth.”

“I always am, Newton, and you of all people ought to know that by now,” said Mrs. Dramouth with her familiar sternness. 

Newt laughed, weakly. “Of course.”

He hoped that were true. 


	9. Moving Forward

_July 1813_

The summer continued, and with each day Mako recovered, at least surfacely, and by the following month she was back to laughing and chatting, though to Newt couldn’t help but notice that her laughs were shorter and her smiles less wide. The twinkle in her eyes that Newt had memorized after nine years of service was less like a fiery sun and more like a distant star, only visible on some nights and still obscured by the clouds that refused to pass. 

When the offer had come for Mako to join the Marshal’s friends in London for two months, it seemed as though it presented an opportunity for Mako to get away from all of her memories of Becket and the Bolton estate. Though Newt hated the idea of her leaving for so long, anything that had a chance of returning Mako to her old, cheerful self was something that he had to embrace. 

Thus, he and the Marshal pushed her to accept the invitation, and finally she did, and then the time came to send her off. 

Though the morning of her departure was a rainy one, they all stood outside Bridewater to see her go. 

Mako gave her father a long hug, which he returned, and they exchanged a few quiet, tender words, and then it was Newt’s turn. 

They stood in front of each other as the rain poured down on them, and then both began to cry, and then laugh at the shared acknowledgement of how silly they looked, and then they were hugging, and crying again, and Newt didn’t want to let go. 

No matter how much he willed time to stay still, his efforts were fruitless, and finally he had to release her, but not before placing a kiss on her forehead. She gave him one in return, on his cheek, and then turned to say goodbye to the rest of the staff, and in what seemed to be a blink, she was in the carriage and then they were all gone and everyone who had been left behind returned inside to shelter themselves from the summer storm. 

The rest of the day was quiet, almost as if in mourning. The afternoon came and went, and then it was evening, and the Marshal had eaten, and the servants as well, and the house retired. 

Newt couldn’t bring himself to sleep, and debated going out to play cards with the stablehands or going into town to see Tendo, before dismissing both ideas. As untired as he was, the effort either required felt unworth it at the moment, so he decided to instead visit the house’s library to find something to read. Though he’d long read through its entire catalogue, it at least offered a slim opportunity of taking his mind off Mako’s absence. 

When he reached the dimly lit library, he was startled to see the Marshal sitting in there, facing the stone fireplace that broke up the wall of books. The Marshal seemed equally surprised to hear him in the doorway, turning around quickly to face him. 

“Oh!” said Newt, turning to leave. “I’m sorry, sir. I hadn’t expected you to be in here at this late hour.” 

“No, no,” said the Marshal, quickly. “Come in. You know you have permission to be in here as you like.”

Newt hesitated before doing as he was told. Though the Marshal was correct, Newt always avoided using it at the same time as him, feeling it inappropriate to invade on his space while he used it. 

“Come in,” the Marshal repeated, so Newt obeyed before he caused any further annoyance. “Sit,” he added, indicating towards the chair beside him. 

Newt sat and faced the Marshal, unsure of what to say. The Marshal ignored his apparent awkwardness and instead turned to the liquor tray on the side table next to him, pouring some gin from its crystal decanter into two glasses. He took a drink from the first and handed the second to Newt. 

Newt accepted the drink and immediately took a sip. It was far better than the stuff he was used to, he had to admit, before taking a second taste.

“It feels rather empty, here, doesn’t it?” said the Marshal after a long period of silence. He looked towards the mantle, bringing the glass back up to his lips. 

“It does, sir,” said Newt, bleakly. 

“It’s strange, you know. Here I had been, preparing myself for Mako’s permanent departure anyways, though I’d expected it to be with the news of marriage,” said the Marshal. Newt was surprised by his forwardness and wondered how many glasses of this excellent gin he’d enjoyed prior to Newt’s interruption. 

“It’d seemed like such a sure thing, hadn’t it?” asked the Marshal, turning towards Newt. “He’d seemed so enamoured with her at the assembly halls, and the dinner at the Bolton estate seemed to have gone so well. She’d even seemed to like him as well, though I know she’d never dare tell _me_ those words. I’d hoped…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

“We’d all thought it was just a few dances away, sir,” said Newt, attempting reassurance. 

“I should’ve invited them to Bridewater,” said the Marshal before taking a swig from his crystal glass. “Perhaps this is all my fault for not being more welcoming. I’d meant to do it, but I hadn’t realized I was on a time frame.”

“You can’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault, sir,” said Newt quickly. “Neither is it Miss Mori’s.”

_It’s all because of that prick he’s friends with,_ he thought to himself, and took another drink.

_And perhaps mine,_ he thought a tad more glumly.

“I pray that it isn’t,” sighed the Marshal. “This was supposed to be a very good thing. Love and position in one charming package had appeared right on our front door and it had all seemed to be going so well, and now we’re back to square one.”

“It’ll be okay, sir,” said Newt, as convincingly as he could muster. “She’s young and beautiful. Another gentleman will be head over heels with her soon enough, I’m certain, sir.” As Mrs. Dramouth’s words had consoled him, he hoped they might do the same for the Marshal. 

The Marshal pursed his lips and said nothing. Only the crackle of the fire and the hoots of the tawny owls outside occupied the air for what felt like ages before the Marshal finally spoke. 

“Newton, there’s something you must know that I can keep from you no longer, that you cannot repeat to any of the other staff or my daughter, or anyone else, for that matter.”

Newt took a moment to process the words that had just been said to him. “Of course, sir,” he said, unable to control the sinking feeling within him that told him that this would not be good news. 

“I mean that,” said the Marshal, sternly, his dark eyes looking pointedly at Newt’s.

“I swear on it, sir,” said Newt, swallowing down his uneasiness. No, he wasn’t going to like this at all. 

For the first time in nine years, he heard the Marshal’s powerful, deep voice crack as he spoke the words that Newt had least wanted to hear. 

“I’m ill, Newton. And considerably so.” 

Newt’s mouth fell open but words wouldn’t come out. 

The Marshal continued, gathering his voice. “The doctors have informed me that my health is failing, and while they cannot determine its cause, they do know enough to tell me that it's worsening, and quickly.”

Newt had a sudden flashback to seeing the Marshal on the veranda when his nose had begun profusely bleeding. He’d all but forgotten about it until now. Oh, how _stupid_ he had been to not think that there might be something wrong then.

“How long have you known, sir?” 

“I received the news nearly a month and a fortnight ago, when I left for London for the night in May.”

_The night at the pub._ Newt wanted to throw up. The night that the Marshal was receiving the worst news of his life, he had been out risking his daughter’s chances with a wealthy bachelor, and perhaps being the reason for destroying them. He had half his mind made up to hand in his notice in shame right then and there. 

“Does anyone else know, sir?”

The Marshal nodded. “Langston knows, of course, as he went with me, and now yourself.” 

“Right,” said Newt, letting the information sink in, before he caught himself. "Sir.” 

The Marshal said nothing, and instead took another drink from his glass. 

“Might I ask a question, sir, that might have the potential of overstepping our professional boundaries?”

“Please, Newton,” the Marshal chuckled halfheartedly. “Don’t let the shocking news of my current affliction give you the impression that you have ever feared overstepping our professional boundaries.” 

Newt couldn’t help but let out a weak laugh, accepting that as permission. “Why mustn’t Mako know, sir?”

The Marshal’s face fell even further from the sad expression he’d worn earlier. “She will, of course, in time. But for now, I would like to remain living as a man who has a life, and not one with a potentially premature death sentence.” 

Newt was briefly grateful that this morning had rid him of most of the saltwater in his body, or he would have been a wreck by this point. Instead, he pushed down the redness that he knew to be forming in his cheeks and nodded. 

The Marshal began to speak, though softly. “You see, Mako is not entitled to my estate, as it is entailed to my nearest male relative, which happens to be a distant third cousin of mine, who is already married and, I presume, has no intention of taking care of Mako after my death.” 

Newt felt his own face whiten at the Marshal’s honest words. “I see, sir.” 

Newt didn’t need it spelled out for him to realize that this meant Mako would be in dire circumstances if or when the Marshal passed. He’d always known that Bridewater was not hers; he knew the law. Yet, the Marshal had always seemed so young and healthy until this moment. He’d never felt the need to worry about what might happen to Mako following the Marshal’s inevitable passing, as it’d always seemed so far away. 

_Until now, that is,_ Newt reminded himself with despair. 

“You see why I had so highly anticipated the apparent success she seemed to be having with Mr. Becket, then,” said the Marshal as he swirled the pale yellow liquid in his glass. 

“I do, sir.” 

Neither said a word for a moment, both taking a drink from their respective glasses. 

“I suppose it’s my own fault, for never having a legitimate male heir to inherit this old place,” said the Marshal as he brought the glass back down from his lips, his eyes wandering over the titles of dusted old books in his library with familiarity, fondness, and remorse, all at once. 

“You can’t help that you never married, sir,” said Newt, entirely sure that he must be crossing some employer-servant boundary by this point, but hell be it. The man clearly had few others to turn to at the moment, and Newt would do or say anything to help the gentleman who had so distinctly transformed his life. 

The corner of the Marshal’s mouth twitched into a frown at Newt’s words, but he quickly stilled his lips and simply nodded, eyes still not meeting Newt’s. 

“It’s all such a shame. I’d really thought that you might hit it off with that scientist, the Gottlieb fellow, you know.”

Newt cocked his head at the other man’s sudden shift in topic, feeling his cheeks redden at the mention of the other man. “What do you mean, sir?”

“Well, you’re a naturalist, are you not?”

Newt only blushed harder. “I mean, I have no formal training outside of my adolescent education, of course, sir,” he started, but the Marshal shook his head. 

“Newton, you know as well as I do that you know far more than most of the Cambridge-educated men out there, including those that claim science as their profession.” 

“You’re very flattering, sir,” said Newt as he looked down into his glass. 

“Well, now, don’t give me the impression that I hired a simpleton to educate my only daughter. Be proud of your mind. Many would be, and are, very jealous.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Newt, certain that he must look like a tomato by this point. 

"As I was saying,” continued the Marshal, “I was hoping that he might take a liking to you at the assembly halls and that he might potentially offer you a position at his estate.”

Newt felt utterly shocked at the revelation, and he knew his face reflected it. “But, sir, I’m employed by you.”

The Marshal lifted a brow. “Of course you are. However, you must recognize that Mako, being freshly twenty now, has perhaps outgrown the need for a tutor, though because of the fact that she still desires to learn and you still seem to have knowledge to teach her, it had been no wish of mine to conclude your studies together until necessary. However, someday soon enough, likely, Mako will need to go off and begin her life outside of Bridewater, and, as much as I enjoy having you here, even if I am miraculously to live another thirty years, I don’t see us having any need for a tutor any time in the near future, and I don’t quite see you as being able to fit into the role of a cook, valet, or stablehand.”

Newt stammered helplessly. “I suppose not, sir.”

The Marshal gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. I hope that that did not upset you.”

Newt shook his head. “Of course not, sir. You speak only the truth.” He knew he did, and he appreciated the honesty, but it didn’t help make the reality of his situation sting any less.

“Yes,” said the Marshal, though Newt wasn’t sure if it was directed towards him or himself. “I suppose you better find your book and head to bed now. I don’t know if Mrs. Dramouth has informed you or not but we’re expecting company tomorrow. My friend from the service, Hercules Hansen, and his son Charles will be staying for a fortnight.

"Oh, right. Well, she hadn't, but that's good to know, sir."

"They’re to bring their dog with them and I was wondering if you might not mind taking care of it while they’re staying, seeing as your teaching duties will be diminished for the next few weeks.”

“Absolutely, sir." He was not at all opposed to the idea. It might be nice to have a dog around for the next few weeks, as well as the company of strangers to liven up the empty house. Certainly there was little that could bring the mood _down_ these days.

He bid his farewell for the evening, taking the familiar copy of _The Botanist's Repository_ from the Marshal’s shelves with him, though he managed little reading that night. 


	10. Visitors

Unlike the cold rain of the stormy morning before, the sun beat down hard on Newt as he stood outside lined up with the rest of the servants, awaiting the Hansen's carriage. The spot where Mako would normally stand was empty, which gave Newt a pang of sadness that he forced himself to quickly brush off as he stood still and upright in the heat. 

Finally, the carriage parked itself before the entrance to the home and the Marshal’s valet opened their door to let them descend. The first gentleman who exited was presumably Mr. Hansen; he was an older man, likely around Pentecost’s age, with short-cut auburn hair only slightly visible under the brim of his hat. His expression was stern but his eyes kind, and his physique, though largely masked by his clothes, clearly fit. 

A younger man followed after with a stout white bulldog in his arms. He couldn’t have been any older than his early twenties, Newt estimated, and had the same reddish-brown hair as his father and was just as in shape, though he was much taller than the older man. As he reached the ground, he put the stout dog down, though he didn’t go any farther than his master’s side. 

“Now if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes,” said Mr. Hansen once he'd reached them. His stern expression had transformed into a cheerful grin almost immediately. 

The Marshal returned the warm smile and shook his friend’s hand. “It’s good to see you, Herc. I take it your journey was a smooth one?”

“Oh, yes,” assured Hansen. “Very much so, thanks. Been rather fine sailing these past few weeks, save for that spot of rain yesterday.” 

Pentecost nodded and turned his attention to the younger man. “Charles, I take it? I haven’t seen you since before you could walk.”

“It’s good to meet you,” he said stiffly, “and it’s Chuck, if you don’t mind, sir.” He looked to the dog who stood obediently at his feet. “And this is Max.”

“Well, then,” said the Marshal. “It’s good to meet you again as well, Chuck, and Max.” He gestured his hand in the direction of the staff. “This is my valet, Langston. I’m afraid he’s our only valet, given the small staff we keep at Bridewater these days, but I will of course be offering his services to you during your stay.”

The older Hansen scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Stacker. I’d rather fall on my own musket than take another man’s valet away from him, particularly yours. Chuck and I will be perfectly fine dressing and putting ourselves away for the evening.”

Newt thought the Marshal might try to argue with him, but he only nodded in acceptance. Going down the line, he then gestured to Newt. “This is my daughter’s tutor, Mr. Newton Geiszler. You’ll notice that Mako is absent at the moment, as she’s visiting London with some friends. I’ve asked him if he would mind taking care of your dog and he’s assured me it would be no burden.”

“No,” said Chuck abruptly and coldly, much to the clear dismay of his father. “I can take care of him just fine, myself.”

The sudden outburst had caught Newt off guard, but he couldn’t deny that he was perfectly fine with hearing that he didn’t need to take care of the dog, particularly if it meant that he might be able to limit his time with his sullen master.

“Thank you for the offer, though,” said Hansen to Newt and the Marshal, though he looked at his son pointedly as he spoke. 

“Of course,” said the Marshal to Hansen, politely. “Well, then. If you’d like to get settled in, we can do that now.”

“I think that’s a great idea." 

* * *

Having no work to do, Newt had spent the majority of the day reading in his room and visiting with the horses outside (he had always had a soft spot for an old gelding named Trespasser who almost bit off Newt’s fingers every time he offered him a carrot.) By the time the staff were ready to serve dinner upstairs, Newt had only just walked in through the servant’s entrance.

“Newton!” said Mrs. Dramouth, visibly irritated. “Where have you been?”

“Just out at the barns, ma’am,” he said slowly, unsure of what was going on.

“The Marshal would like you at dinner tonight,” said Mrs. Dramouth, as if it were obvious. “You’d better hurry and get cleaned up, they’re going to dine soon.”

“What?” said Newton, perplexed. It had never been one of his duties to serve dinner, even when there’d been large parties, with many more attendees than this. “I’m to wait on our guests this evening?”

“No, you idiot." She swat at him with her kitchen towel. “He wants you to _dine_ with him.”

“Oh,” said Newt, though it made little more sense. Newt rarely dined with guests at the home, and when he occasionally did, it was only the Marshal, Mako, and her few young lady friends from town and a few of the more liberal parents. 

“Has your brain stopped working? I said you’d better hurry and clean yourself up,” she repeated, before letting out one last exaggerated scoff and returning to her cooking.

Newt wasted no more time standing there and went into his chambers to change into something better suited for dining upstairs. Within a few minutes, he flew out of his room, redressed in a clean white shirt and vest and fresh trousers. He’d thrown a comb through his hair as well and ensured that there was nothing on his face or glasses. 

“Much better,” shouted Mrs. Dramouth behind him as he flew up the stairs. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Dramouth!” he yelled back down after her. As he reached the main level of the house, he took a moment to collect himself, though he knew little of how to prepare himself for the unanticipated dinner. 

He made his way through the familiar house to the open study, finding the three gentlemen standing about the room with filled glasses, talking amongst themselves. 

“Good evening, Newton,” said the Marshal as he entered. Newt greeted him back politely, as well as Hansen and Chuck. Hansen returned the greeting, though Chuck just grunted and looked out the window. 

The Marshal and Hansen resumed their chat which sounded like recollections of old military times and overall a difficult discussion for Newt to insert himself into, and he dared not attempt conversation with Chuck, unless he wanted to get his head bit off. Instead, he took his drink and looked up at the paintings on the study’s wall that he had looked at too many times in nine years. 

It caught Newt as strange, sometimes, how much he felt at home at Bridewater. It was equally as much his as it wasn’t; though he wandered its halls every day and could name every book in the library and every piece of music that sat at the small piano, only the goodwill of the Marshal kept him within its walls.

Soon, he would be useless to it.

Always one for pleasant thoughts, he was. 

Not soon enough, Langston appeared in the doorway and informed them that dinner was ready. They all made their way towards the dining room and sat at their respective places. From where Newt sat, he directly faced Chuck, who seemed plussed at the prospect of having to stare at Newt for the entirety of dinner. Newt could hardly blame him, as he felt the same sentiment towards the other scowling man. 

Why was it that whenever someone pleasant, like Becket or Hansen, came to Sladehall End, they seemed to be accompanied by something with the personality of a burnt ham? Newt would have to remember that question for further research, but for now, he had to concentrate on not making a fool of himself at dinner. 

_We all know I’ve already damaged the Pentecost name enough,_ he thought glumly.

“So tell me more about your journey across England thus far,” asked the Marshal towards Hansen as the first course was distributed on their plates. 

Hansen rattled off names of villages and towns that’d they’d stopped at on their way up to Bridewater. It appeared as though he and his son had been taking a cross-country tour, beginning in the south and ending in the north, and had been at it for nearly a month. 

“And where are you off to next, sir?” asked Newt before stabbing a branch of asparagus with his fork and bringing it to his mouth. 

“We’re off to Bishop’s Grove after we’ve overstayed our welcome,” replied Hansen nonchalantly. 

Newt’s eyes lit up. “Bishop’s Grove?” he said, a mouth full of food still. The Marshal’s brow raised slightly, and Newt quickly closed his mouth and chewed, before adding, “Sir.” 

Hansen nodded, patting his mouth with his napkin. “Are you familiar with the region?” he asked. 

“Not physically, sir,” Newt confessed. “Only from what I’ve read.”

“And what have you read?”

“Only about the Kaidonovsky planetarium at the Wincaster estate, sir. It seems to be very impressive.” Newt was doing it a disservice by not calling it by what it really was: _one of the fucking neatest things in England in the last ten years._

“Are you interested in the heavens, then?” asked Chuck abruptly from the other side of the table, in a shocking display of polite conversation. 

The Marshal chuckled to himself from the head of the table, dabbing at his lips with his cloth napkin. “Newton is interested in everything.”

Newt nodded. That certainly described him well enough. “It’s always been of great interest to me to see the planetarium someday." 

“Well, interestingly enough,” said Hansen, looking to Newt. “The Wincaster estate is exactly where we’re headed. My son here is rather an armchair astronomer himself.” Chuck blushed ever so slightly and wrinkled his brow, looking into his plate. 

Newt’s eyes widened. “Really, sir?”

Hansen nodded, taking a bite of his venison.

Newt couldn’t help but feel a tad jealous. He’d _ached_ to set eyes on the planetarium ever since he’d first read about it in Nicholson’s monthly journal years ago. “That’s very exciting, sir. I do hope that you’ll write the Marshal after you’ve returned and let him know about what you learned there, if it isn’t too much of a burden, sir.” 

The Marshal interjected, causing Newt to fall silent. “What if you took Newton with you, Herc?” he said calmly as if the most shocking words that Newt had ever heard hadn’t just come out of his mouth. 

“Won’t he be missed?” asked Hansen, one eyebrow propped up in amusement. 

“Mako isn’t due back for at least two months now, and I expect that you will not take him from Bridewater for any longer than that, surely?”

Herc nodded. “Certainly not. We only expect to stay the week.” He turned to Newt, who knew he must look like a child awaiting permission to have dessert. “Well, then. How about it? Would you like to join us?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” Newt gushed, unable to hide his excitement. “I would like that very much, sir.” 

“Good,” said Hansen, smiling. “Then it’s settled. We depart for Bishop’s Grove in a fortnight, then.”

Newt nodded vigorously. “Thank you so much, sir. I’ll be ready, sir,” he assured him.  
  
Hansen and the Marshal laughed, glancing at each other. “I’m sure you will, son,” said Hansen before he continued eating his meal and chatting with his old friend.

Newt didn’t even mind being the butt of the joke in this instance. Instead, he felt as though a new fire had been lit within him. It’d been so long since there had been something to look forward to at Bridewater, and so, so long since he’d had good news. 

God, how he wished that he could tell Mako right this instant. She would be thrilled for him, having had to endure many a lecture on the Kaidonovsky planetarium over the years. He would write to her as soon as he went to bed to let her know the news, he decided. 

Newt looked over at where the Marshal sat at the head of the table. Unexpectedly, the Marshal had been looking at him as well, and their eyes caught one anothers. 

The pleased, yet dignified look in the Marshal’s eyes almost made Newt feel as though Pentecost were his proud father, and he were his son who had just been allowed to go on his Grand Tour, about to step into the world of real, proper men. 

Even as the reality set in once more that, _no,_ he was not the Pentecost heir and wasn’t about to be whisked off to the Colosseum, but that he was, instead, a servant being offered the trip of a lifetime only a few counties over, Newt’s mood could not be sunk. This had been just what he needed right now. 

He mouthed the words _thank you_ to the Marshal, who only nodded back with a small smile and looked away. 

The silly country scientist Newton Geiszler was to make a visit, and he was very much looking forward to it with every silly and country bone in his body. 


	11. A Proper Gentleman

The next two weeks passed like minutes and soon Newt was standing outside of the Bridewater house once more, though this time he stood with those who were to depart, rather than greet or send off. 

“You should be arriving at Bishop’s Grove in the late afternoon,” said the Marshal to Hansen, Chuck, and Newt as the driver loaded their belongings into the carriage.

Hansen nodded in agreement, eyes squinting in the early morning sun. “We ought to be back by Friday afternoon, if you can manage without him that long.”

“Oh, I suppose we’ll have to learn how to survive without him in the meantime,” chuckled the Marshal, “but we shall do so nonetheless.” 

Soon, farewells were distributed between the four of them and then Newt and the Hansens were set off in their carriage for their forty mile journey. Newt and Chuck sat beside each other once inside, with Hansen on the bench across from them. Max sat in Chuck’s lap, having fallen asleep the second the carriage took off. The dog snored loudly as Chuck absentmindedly pet his wrinkly head and stared blankly out the window. 

“I just want to say, sir, how much I appreciate you taking me with you both,” said Newt once they rounded out the corner that led from the Bridewater estate to the main road. 

Hansen smiled. “It’s our pleasure, though I appreciate you saying so. It’ll be nice for Chuck to have another pair of young, inquisitive eyes to study the stars with. I’m afraid I’m of little use in that department.”

Newt let out a quiet laugh while Chuck grunted from his seat on the far edge of the cushioned bench. 

“Well, thank you again, sir. You’ve no idea how much I’m looking forward to this.”

“Of course,” said Hansen, nodding. After a moment, he added, “And you needn’t call me sir when we’re simply amongst us boys. It makes me feel like a stuffy old man. Just call me Herc, or Hansen, if you must.”

Newt liked this guy.

“That I can manage,” said Newt with a chuckle.

Some time passed on the road, consisting largely of Chuck sulking and Newt and Hansen taking part in some light-hearted small talk, before Newt brought up Bishop’s Grove again. 

“Do you know where we’re to be staying?” inquired Newt, expecting to hear that they’d be headed off to some inn in the main town. 

“We’ll be on the property, actually,” answered Hansen.

“Really?” asked Newt, somewhat surprised. “Not in the house, of course, right?”

Hansen shook his head. “No, we’ll be staying in a guest cottage only a short walk to Wincaster house, I’m told.”

This trip only got _better,_ it seemed. “Do you know the family, then?”

Hansen hesitated. “I do, actually. Old friends.”

As Hansen turned to look out the window abruptly, Newt got the feeling that he didn’t want to be pushed about the subject, and let it be.

* * *

Newt fell asleep for the majority of the remaining journey to Bishop’s Grove and before he knew it, they had arrived at the Wincaster Estate. As he looked out the carriage window as they pulled up, he was startled to realize how enormous the Wincaster house was. He’d expected it to be grand, but this might as well have been the royal castle.

A four-story mansion sprawled out before him, built of a white limestone that had weathered into a dark grey over the years that only served to make the house look more monumental. Four grand Ionic pillars marked the home’s main entrance, symmetrically framed by full-length round-arched windows and heavily rusticated loggia on each side. The slated Mansard roof that topped off the building was dotted by multiple chimney stacks and carved stone nymphs and cherubs that seemed to guard the grand estate. 

Its massive lawns looked as though each blade of grass had been delicately trimmed to be the exact height. Great carved shrubberies in the shapes of swans and rabbits were distributed throughout the yard, the smallest of them still well over ten feet tall. Not a single branch stood out of place. Various flower beds were scattered throughout, equally as pristine and well-executed as the rest of the greenery. 

“There aren’t too many estates like this in Sladehall End, huh?” asked Hansen with a smile. 

“Very much not,” said Newt as he took in the sight. He wondered how deep back the building went; there could perhaps be a few hundred rooms in the entire place.

Soon, their carriage drove past the grand home and headed towards the guest house that they were to be put up in, only a short distance away.

As they reached their cottage, Newt was almost relieved to see that it was much humbler than the Wincaster house. Rather than a grand Palladian palace, their guest home was built from local stone and topped with a simple slate roof. Vines grew along the textured exterior walls in organic patterns and visually tied the home into the primitive garden that Newt suspected was meant to look wild but likely was the result of many, many hours of careful gardening. An old stone fence surrounded the building, no taller than a few feet high, that seemed to have lost its battle with the rambling rose plants centuries prior. 

Newt and the Hansens, including Max, quickly exited their carriage to meet the Wincaster staff who had been expecting them. A footman took their luggage and brought it into the cottage while Newt lingered outside to observe the garden.

Stone paths had been carved out of the vegetation that allowed Newt to wander without fear of stepping on the flowers and ferns, and so he set about taking in his surroundings. 

Tall stalks of pink and blue delphinium and yellow hollyhocks enveloped Newt as he made his way along the stone walkway, little bees crossing his path now and then to get from blossom to blossom. He stopped to smell the lavender that circled the birdbath, letting it fill his nostrils with its sweet scent. He almost felt euphoric, for a moment, before his happiness was sliced into by the ever-lingering sense of guilt that seemed to never leave him these days.

 _Oh, how Mako would love this,_ he thought as he delicately touched the petals of blue wisteria that grew on the garden trellises. 

He wished that his friend could be here, so that he could see her enjoying the violets and peonies and forget all the mess that had come along with Becket’s departure. To see her true smile again, to hear her chiming laugh, to tease him as he droned on about botany and soil layers, to know the happy Mako that he’d remembered from only a short month and a half ago. 

She still hadn’t written him since her departure, though Newt had written to her twice, and he longed to hear how she was doing. He tried to take her silence as a good thing, for it potentially meant that she was off having a ball of a time and was too busy to find the time to write a letter, but the thought still gave him little ease. 

He remained lost in his thoughts until he heard Hansen calling to him from the doorway. 

“One of the servants has informed me that Lady Kaidonovsky has invited us to dine with her and her husband at the great house this evening,” Hansen yelled out to him. “Come in and get unpacked so that we can set out in an hour.”

Newt did as he was told and retired from the garden to enter the cottage for the first time.

As he stepped inside the front parlor to join Hansen, he saw that the interior walls were covered in dark oak panels and decorated with small landscape paintings of the estate. The furniture was simple, as were the plain curtains that covered the rectangular windows. A large fireplace marked the heart of the room and was surrounded by a few comfortable chairs. It was unlit at the moment, given the summer heat. 

“Your room is down that hall,” explained Hansen, gesturing in the direction. “They’ve already brought in your things.” Newt nodded, thanking him, and went towards his room. 

The room itself was as quaint as the rest of the home. There was a small bed in the middle of the room as well as his own fireplace. A few brass candle holders sat on the mantle, waiting to be lit later in the evening when the house had gone dark. The only other furniture in the room was a small dresser and a wooden chair that sat off to the side. At the moment, his trunk sat at the foot of the bed, untouched. 

“This will do just fine,” said Newt aloud to no one, as he went to his trunk and pulled out fresh clothes for the evening. 

* * *

The sun had begun to set behind the Wincaster mansion as Newt and the Hansens approached the front steps. Newt had dressed in his only fine tailcoat, which had been generously gifted to him one Christmas half a decade ago by the Marshal. It had hardly seen the light of day more than once a year since then, but he had been incredibly grateful for it in the rare moments like these where he had to be at his most presentable. It was a simple black and would certainly not be mistaken for the height of fashion, but he hoped that it would at least partially conceal his true identity as a country servant. He’d paired it with his starkest white shirt, and Hansen had tossed him a pair of Chuck’s clean gloves before they’d left the cottage, much to his son’s apparent dismay. Newt was thankful for the kindness. 

Standing before the house, a circle of servants surrounded who Newt presumed to be the masters of the estate, an exceptionally tall couple with matching blonde hair that was so light it was almost white, though, interestingly, the full beard on the gentleman was a dark black. 

Newt felt a sudden wave of apprehension flood over him for the first time since arriving at Bishop’s Grove as he walked towards the pair. He tried his best to swallow it down before they were only a few feet away. 

Hansen and Chuck bowed towards the couple, Newt quickly following suit. The couple returned the gesture, and then the husband began to speak. 

“When we got word that you were looking to visit Wincaster, I could hardly believe it,” greeted the man in a booming voice that nearly startled Newt. As Newt stood closer to him, he realized he was unable to look at his face without craning his neck. He must have been the tallest man Newt had ever seen, standing almost seven feet tall. Even underneath his fine navy tailcoat and ruffled shirt, Newt saw that he was incredibly muscular as well, enormous biceps straining the fabric as he moved his arms. His face was as finely chiseled as his body, with a large, strong nose and protruding cheekbones. 

Hansen gave a hearty chuckle. “I appreciate you accepting the invitation.”

The woman next to the enormous man emitted a ringing laugh, causing Newt to turn and look at her. Though not as tall as her husband, she too stood high over Newt’s tiny frame. Her face had a beautiful severity to it, with deep red lips and commanding brown eyes. Newt suddenly realized what it must have felt like to walk amongst the Grecian athletes.

“Now, Hercules,” said the woman with a coy smile. “You know that you needn’t ever ask. For as long as you live, your home is ours.”

If Newt hadn’t known any better, he would’ve said that Hansen appeared almost bashful. Hansen had told him that he was familiar with the couple, but Newt hadn’t realized the depth of their apparent relationship. 

“You have always been too kind to me,” said Hansen, the corner of his mouth curving into a small smile. “Now, I’ve been rude and failed to introduce you to my party.” He gestured with his hand to Chuck, who stood rigid in between him and Newt. “This is my son, Charles, who is very interested in your planetarium.” 

Chuck nodded, stiffly, eyes looking towards the ground almost nervously. Newt noticed that he didn’t correct him about his preferred nickname like he had when he was in front of Pentecost. 

_Interesting._

Hansen then gestured down the line. “And this is Mr. Newton Geiszler, an acquaintance of an old militia friend whom I was recently visiting. He’s a scientist who is also familiar with your work here.”

Newt nodded like Chuck had, resisting the urge to blush. He appreciated that Hansen hadn’t revealed his true relation to the Marshal. It would be in his favor to be mistaken as a gentleman while he was here, if he wanted as much access as possible to the planetarium. Even moreso, his generosity in calling him a “scientist” rather than, oh, say, a “country tutor” was something that Newt wondered how he could ever repay him back for. 

The woman smiled towards both of them. “It is lovely to meet both of you young gentlemen. You may call me Lady Sasha Kaidonovsky, and this is my husband, Lord Aleksis. How have you enjoyed the estate thus far?”

“It is absolutely beautiful, m’lady,” Newt blurted out. Chuck nodded in agreement, though significantly more politely. 

Lady Sasha laughed her charming, ringing laugh. “Well, we are so glad to hear it. I am also overjoyed to hear about your interest in our planetarium. Fortunately for you both, the engineer who helped us with the project has actually arrived today for a short visit and will be joining us for dinner this evening as well.”

Newt almost had to step back out of shock. He’d already been thrilled at the prospect of dining with the Kaidonovsky’s, but, and he meant this _kindly,_ from what he understood, they were simply the amateur astronomers and signers of checkbooks behind the planetarium. He had always wondered whose mind had actually been at work behind the mechanics, but none of the papers that had ever mentioned the planetarium had named him, which wasn’t unusual but nonetheless an inconvenience to Newt’s curiosity. 

To be sitting at the same table as the brain behind the actual workings of the machine seemed almost too good to be true, but here the opportunity was, only a short walk away in one of the most magnificent feats of architecture that Newt had ever seen. Newt almost had to laugh at the absurdity of him flouncing around as a gentleman in front of whoever the individual was but controlled himself; if he were to have the act down by the time he met the engineer, he had to keep himself in line outside. 

Newt realized that he should be speaking right now, but for once in his life, he couldn’t find the words to explain his happiness. It appeared as though Chuck was failing as well, given that he was standing there with wide eyes and a slightly ajar mouth. 

“That’s very exciting,” said Hansen on their behalf as the two boys stood there dumbstruck. 

“I’m sure it will give us opportunity for very educational dinner conversation,” chuckled Lord Kaidonovsky as he observed Newt and Chuck.

“I think there’s no question about that,” replied Hansen with a sly smile as he watched the boys trying to compose themselves amidst their excitement out of the corner of his eye. 

“Well, then. Shall we head in and let the academics do their academing?” asked Lord Kaidonovsky, nodding towards the entrance of the house.

“We shall,” replied Hansen. Lord and Lady Kaidonovsky led the way while the rest followed.

Newt was grateful that he only had to keep track of the people before him because his brain was moving too quickly for him to bother with thinking about his feet. He managed to discreetly lick the palm of his hand to try to fix his hair that had slightly disheveled itself on the journey over, praying that it looked presentable. 

After what seemed like a mile of a walk down finely gilt halls stuffed with shining suits of armor and enormous portraits of its former residents, they finally reached the drawing room.

As he entered the room, he saw that the walls were adorned with light blue and gold wallpaper and paintings of historical scenes and landscapes that were ten times larger than the ones at their guest cottage. The high ceilings were ornate, divided into a grid of recessed octagonal panels that had each been painted with images of angels and cupids, laughing amongst the pillowy clouds. Intricate moulding formed a junction between the ceiling and its walls, reminding Newt of piping on a wedding cake.

The couches were upholstered with the same pattern as the wallpaper, their arm rests and legs carved and covered in gold. Bookcases carved of cherry were scattered around the room, filled with leatherbound books, and white marble fireplace marked the heart of the room, adorned with beautiful vases and bouquets of flowers similar to those that Newt had seen in the lawn earlier. A magnificent concert grand piano, almost nine feet long, stood in the northwest corner of the room. 

Newt stifled his urge to gawk at the grandiosity of it all as the party settled around him.

Unsure of where to go, Newt finally opted to linger next to the piano, delicately sliding his fingers across the keys to not make a sound but still take in the texture of the ivory. It was a fine instrument, fit for the Royal Opera House. 

Memories of his mother’s piano flickered in and out of his mind; images of his father leaning over the strings to get them back on key as they seasonally went out of tune. His father’s face came to mind easily, but his mother’s, less so.

Newt pushed out the memory as quickly as it had come and brought himself back to his happier present, reminding himself that he was about to meet the engineer in perhaps only minutes. 

The laughter of Hansen and Lord Kaidonovsky roared behind him as they shared stories that Newt wasn’t listening to. Lady Sasha sat with them though didn’t think them quite as funny, only going insofar as to acknowledge them with a shake of her head and a roll of her eyes, paired with a knowing smile. Chuck looked at the titles of the books that lined one wall. 

Newt had been suffice with occupying himself by the piano, but Lady Kaidonovsky then called out to him. “Mr. Geiszler, do join us, please.”

Newt obliged, gulping down his nervousness as he sat on the couch opposite her. 

“So, Mr. Geiszler,” began Lady Sasha, “where do you hail from?”

“Sladehall End, at present, m’lady,” said Newt, before thinking to add, “At the Bridewater estate.” 

“And where before then, pray tell?” 

Newt hesitated. He debated telling the truth, in case she had heard of it and knew it to be the poor, run-down village that it was; as small and sleepy as Sladehall End was, it had certainly been a step up from his actual home.

In the end, he decided to tell the truth, mostly out of fear that she would question him on whatever he made up and he’d reveal himself regardless. “Brampfast, m’lady,” he said, trying to make it sound as elegant as he could muster. 

She cocked her head for a moment, then shrugged with her left shoulder. “I cannot say that I am familiar.”

“Most are not, m’lady,” said Newt with a weak laugh. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chuck looking at him with his brows furrowed, annoyance clear on his face. 

_What is that guy’s problem?_

“Do your parents still reside there?” Lady Sasha asked, taking a sip of her wine. 

“No, m’lady,” said Newt, hoping that she didn’t press the question further. 

To his good fortune, she did not have the opportunity to ask a follow-up question, for at that moment the last remaining dinner guest was ushered into the room behind him. 

However, when it came to good fortune, it appeared that it had run out in that very second, for when he turned around to see the face of the gentleman who had entered, his heart sunk upon immediate recognition. 

“My darling scientist,” greeted Lady Sasha, making her way across the room to welcome him. “How kind of you to finally join us.”

Mr. Gottlieb smiled warmly at her, bowing as he entered the room. “Hello, Sasha.”

_Right, okay. This is fine._

“It has been too long, my friend,” she said, taking his hand in hers and gently leading him to face the rest of the room. “I have quite the party with us tonight, a few of whom are rather excited to meet you.”

For the first time since he’d been escorted in, Gottlieb looked upon the members of the room, smiling politely until his eyes finally fell on Newt, which was precisely when his face paled and his kind smile tensed. 

_Right, obviously not fine. In fact, rather: fuck._

Lady Sasha continued. “This is an old friend of Lord Aleksis and I, Mr. Hercules Hansen, with his son Charles, and their companion, Mr. Newton Geiszler. He is a scientist, you’ll find.” 

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Hansen and Charles,” he said, bowing towards them, “and to see you once more, Mr. Geiszler.” 

“You’ve met?” asked Lady Sasha, surprised. Hansen and Chuck looked at Newt with equal interest at the revelation. 

Gottlieb turned to face her. “Indeed. We met on my most recent trip to Sladehall End.”

Newt half expected him to call him out as a fraud amongst them. Suddenly he felt very silly in his modest tailcoat and white gloves that were a touch too big on his hands. Surely if he were to call him on his bluff, neither lord nor lady would be shocked at the accusations. 

“How marvelous,” said Lady Sasha, entirely oblivious to the tensions around her. “He’s very interested in your work on the planetarium.” With her last comment, she winked towards Newt, who very much wished that he could hide in the moment. 

“Is that so?” asked Gottlieb, glancing over at Newt who was trying to will himself invisible. “Well, then. We must venture there after dinner, then.”

“I would very much like that, sir,” said Chuck from his spot near the books, speaking for the first time that evening. _Oh,_ how he wanted to strangle him.

“It’s settled, then,” said Lord Kaidonovsky. “We’ll all visit after dinner.”

“Wonderful,” said Lady Sasha, clapping her hands together gleefully. 

As unexcited as Newt was to see Gottlieb, let alone to find out that he was the genius behind the Kaidonovsky planetarium, he was grateful that, in the very least, they would all be going together and he wasn’t going to have to venture with just Gottlieb and Chuck, or worse, Gottlieb alone. 

Conversation continued in the drawing room as it had before, with Hansen and Lord Kaidonovsky chatting loudly and Lady Sasha and Gottlieb beginning to speak privately, and Newt decided to return to his spot by the piano. 

As soon as he was alone as he could be in the room full of people, he took a moment to vow that he would never again in his life get excited about meeting a scientist, as twice now it had only served to ruin his mood entirely. No, from this moment on, he would only treat such news with dread. 

He saw someone suddenly standing next to him, and braced himself to face the stern face of Mr. Gottlieb. However, when he turned his head to see who had joined him, he was surprised to realize that it wasn’t Gottlieb, but instead Chuck, who wore a predictably sour expression.

“Oh, hello,” said Newt uncomfortably, unsure of what he had done to deserve this meeting. 

“Hello,” responded Chuck, whose eyes looked solely upon the sheet music that sat above the keys. 

“Um, is there…” Newt stammered, more than a little confused. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Chuck shook his head. “No,” he said, pausing before he opened his mouth to speak again, quieter this time. “I just needed to let you know that you’re going to give yourself away.”

Newt stood there quietly, grateful that his reddening face was far from Gottlieb or the Kaidonovsky’s view, and said nothing.

Chuck continued. “You shouldn’t call Lady Sasha ‘m’lady’ after everything you say,” he further elaborated. “You look like a servant.”

“Oh,” was all Newt could say at first. He thought he’d been playing the part at least halfway decently, but now he was certain that he must look like a fool amongst all of them. An unseen hand could probably pluck Newt by the nape of his neck out of the room and replace him with a penguin in a bowtie, and there’d be a better chance that they wouldn’t notice the imposter in their midst. “Right. Thanks.”

Chuck gave him one short nod before turning to go back to the bookshelf that he’d been studying before. 

Finally the news came that dinner was ready, and the party was led to the dining hall. Newt hesitated before sitting down to see where everyone else took their place and finally took the only remaining seat placement, presuming it to be his. 

With disdain he realized that he was sat next to Gottlieb, as the Hansens had sat on the opposite side of the table and both the Kaidonovsky’s took up the far seats on the ends. In the very least, he was somewhat glad to see that he was closest to the end that held the lady, as she would be more likely to catch him in conversation than the lord, he suspected. He would accept any opportunity that helped him to avoid having any conversation with his other neighbor. 

After he’d sat down, he heard Chuck clear his throat from across the table once, and then twice. After the second time, he finally turned to look at him, out of sheer concern that he was choking on his tongue. 

Fortunately, it appeared as though he was not, though it was clear he had been trying to catch Newt’s eye. Newt shot him a quizzical look, to which Chuck responded by nodding towards his lap. Newt followed his gaze and saw him slowly pulling off his gloves, finger by finger, and setting them in his lap. Looking back up at Chuck’s eyes, he saw him mouth the words, _Do it._

 _Was Chuck Hansen attempting to help?_ _Again?_

This night was proving to be full of surprises, and not ones he was sure he liked. 

Newt did as Chuck had demonstrated, and after setting them in his lap, Chuck looked away, back towards the lord at the end of the table. 

Newt’s impression of Chuck was always changing, it appeared, though he questioned whether or not he would ever have a solid understanding of the man. Perhaps he had judged him too quickly. 

“I noticed you admiring my pianoforte when we were in the drawing room, Mr. Geiszler,” said Lady Sasha to Newt’s left.

He turned to face her, smiling politely. “It is one of the most beautiful instruments I’ve ever come across,” he said, careful not to call her “m’lady.”

She laughed. “Oh, Mr. Geiszler, be careful or we will keep you around, if only to hear you compliment us so highly all day long.”

Newt blushed. “It is less flattery than honesty, I promise.” 

“Do you play, then?”

“Some, yes. My parents always kept one in their house, and I have one at my disposal at present as well.” 

“Very good,” she said. “There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment in music than myself. I would love to hear you play.” 

“I don’t wish to misrepresent myself, Lady Sasha, by giving you the impression that I am a great pianist, before you ask for such a thing,” said Newt carefully. 

“Worry not,” said Lady Sasha, waving away his concerns. “You may simply pluck out nursery tunes and I will be thrilled to hear them.”

Newt laughed. “That I can manage.” 

“Excellent,” she said with a smile, before turning away to call across the table. “Gottlieb, my dear.” 

Gottlieb excused himself from his conversation with Hansen and Lord Kaidonovsky and looked towards her.

“Yes, Sasha?”

“Mr. Geiszler and I were just speaking of the piano and it caused me to think of your dear sister. She’s well, I trust?”

_Huh._

Newt hadn’t realized that Gottlieb had a sister. He supposed he knew very little of Gottlieb’s family, outside of the assumption that his father had passed, seeing that he was the head of Summerworth. Was his mother alive, he wondered? Did he have other siblings? Nieces, nephews? 

_Wait. Why do I care again?_

“Very well, my lady,” assured Gottlieb. “She is very happy these days.”

“And is she still practicing her music?” 

“Oh, yes,” said Gottlieb, now smiling. “At nearly every opportunity.”

Newt couldn’t help but stare at the smile that Gottlieb wore at the mention of his mysterious sister. His face had never seemed kinder; his typically stiff expression had softened, the wrinkles that usually lined his brow had gone away. He looked ten years younger than Newt had ever seen him. 

_He was almost… handsome,_ Newt dared to say to himself, a feeling of slight horror growing inside him.

 _Right. Pushing that one away,_ right _now._

“Mr. Geiszler here has promised to play us some songs on the pianoforte someday soon,” said Lady Sasha to Gottlieb. “Perhaps he knows some of that new Mozart and we can share in a dance in the drawing room.”

Newt was helpless against the laugh that came out of him, startling Lady Sasha. Oh, _fuck,_ did he ever make a _terrible_ gentleman. He cleared his throat in a sorry attempt to mask the laugh. It failed.

“Have I missed a joke, Mr. Geiszler?” inquired Lady Sasha. 

“No, no,” he reassured. “It is only that our friend, Mr. Gottlieb here, does not dance.”

Gottlieb looked towards him, eyebrow cocked and Newt could’ve sworn he almost looked amused, but remained silent.

“Is that so?” asked Lady Sasha.

Newt nodded. “Pardon me if I am speaking out of turn, but the first time I ever made the acquaintance of Mr. Gottlieb was at a country ball in Sladehall End, where gentlemen were scarce and more than one lady was in want of a partner. And yet, I did not see Mr. Gottlieb dance a single dance.”

Gottlieb interjected. “Now, that isn’t quite fair. I partook in one dance with Miss Ainsworth, if you’ll remember.” 

Newt was about to respond that _no,_ he _didn’t_ remember that, when Lady Sasha spoke first. 

“Now, Mr. Gottlieb. I hardly think that one dance is anything more to be proud of than no dances at all.”

Gottlieb looked as though he might protest, but instead fell back in his seat with a gentle laugh. “If I ever do find myself returning to Sladehall End, then,” he said, “I will be sure to apologize to every single woman who felt crossed that night, rest assured.”

While Lady Sasha laughed and continued to make small talk across the table, Newt thought about what Gottlieb had just said and how unlikely it was that he were to ever return to Sladehall End. No, in fact, it had likely been Gottlieb’s fault all along that they had left Sladehall End in the first place, setting off the chain of dominos that would lead to the current gloom that filled the halls back at Bridewater. 

Up his throat crept the familiar pain that had consumed Newt’s heart for Mako since Becket had first left Sladehall End.

For fuck’s sake, how could the cheerful Gottlieb that sat beside him right now be so cruel? Did Newt really understand so little about human nature? 

He took a sip from his glass glumly. _God, the planetarium had better be worth all this._

* * *

Dinner concluded after six courses, and though Newt had never starved at Bridewater, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d partaken in so much food and wine.

As he stumbled down the corridors of Wincaster alongside Chuck, he felt the effects of the dinner wear heavily on him. Though the halls were lit by large torches and the Kaidonovsky’s butler held a glowing candelabra ahead of their pack, it was an unfair match against Newt’s poor eyesight and inebriated state, and he relied on the younger Hansen to make sure he didn’t get lost. He’d come to his rescue once already tonight, and in his present state, Newt had to hope that his honor would last into the remainder of the evening. 

Eventually, the dinner guests and their hosts arrived at an unassuming door at the end of one of the home’s many hallways. Newt and Chuck, who had been in the rear, arrived last, and it wasn’t until he was very close that Newt could see that a constellation had been carved out of the dark oak and gilted with delicate gold leaf. In the light of the butler’s candelabra, the stars seemed to dance and flicker as if they were alive. 

“Are we ready, gentlemen and lady?” asked Lord Kaidonovsky in his deep, arresting voice. 

“Yes, sir,” blurted Newt loudly from behind the crowd of much taller persons. Chuck kicked him not-so-gently in the heel. “I mean, your lordship,” corrected Newt, rubbing his soon-to-be-bruised ankle against his other calf before shooting off an annoyed look at Chuck, who ignored him. 

“Good to hear it,” said Lord Kaidonovsky with a chuckle. With that, he turned the handle and allowed the party to crowd into the dark room before closing the door behind him. The butler and his candelabra stayed put outside. 

If Newt had felt blind in the corridors, he was certainly without all his senses as he stood in the closed, dark room. He couldn’t even get a sense for the scale of the space. 

Someone shuffled around in front of him and soon he heard the striking of a match. Gottlieb’s face was soon illuminated by the small flame he held gingerly in his fingers, though the rest of the room remained black. 

“As I understand that there are those amongst us who have not yet had the pleasure of setting their sights on the magic before us, I would like to welcome you, my friends and companions, to the Kaidonovsky planetarium,” said Gottlieb, his voice echoing throughout the closed room. 

“I told him to put his name on it, but he refused,” said Lady Sasha from off to the side. Her husband shushed her kindly. 

Soon Gottlieb’s face was out of Newt’s sight, as he leaned into some mysterious shape. Moments passed, and Newt shifted his weight from foot to foot as he remained in the dark, careful to not tip over lest the lady remember how much he’d drunk at dinner. 

One second it was dark, and then suddenly the room was dotted with bright, white light and Newt could finally see. 

He realized that the room was not one’s standard four walls but instead an enormous dome, at least thirty feet in diameter and fifteen feet high. There were no windows or doors in the room, save the one they had entered through which remained shut. He felt himself immediately sobering up as he took it all in with wonder.

The walls were painted with a shiny royal blue paint, glimmering brilliantly under the light emitted from the contraption in the middle of the room. _So that’s what Gottlieb must have been fiddling with._ The machine itself was a glossy bronze globe that was half as big as Newt, dotted with small holes sporadically. All of the light that freckled the room came from it, though Newt was amazed to see how brightly and powerfully it shone, like the reflection of a brilliant diamond in the direct sun. On the ground beside it were two large levers, as tall as the globe itself, cast in the same bronze.

“If you don’t mind, Aleksis,” said Gottlieb from his position by the machine, “I would like to begin with a personal favorite of mine.”

Lord Kaidonovsky nodded for him to proceed. Gottlieb pulled the first lever until it was at a 45° angle, and then the second until it rested at 30°. All this while, the lights moved about the room until they settled in their spots. 

Gottlieb gestured to the left half of the domed ceiling. “If you are familiar with the constellation, you will be able to make out the form of Capricornus the sea goat, as he might appear in the month of September.” 

Newt looked up at the ceiling to where the dots of light reflected off the small, delicate gold circles that had previously been enveloped by the rich hue of the blue walls. He saw that each small beam of light lined up with the gold spots, causing the illusion of distant starlight across the domed room. _Fuck, that must’ve taken hundreds of hours of mapping._

His eyes were immediately drawn to the stars of Capricornus in their perfectly recreated form. He counted them off as he spotted them: Castra, and Dorsum, and Baten Algiedi and the rest of them, just like he’d seen them so many times in the fall months. It was as breathtaking as the real thing.

Gottlieb moved the levers once more until the sky had transformed again, each beam of light hopping to a different gold speck. Directly above Newt, he saw the abstract form of a teapot glistening. 

“And here we have -”

“Sagittarius the Archer,” Newt answered before he could stop himself. Gottlieb shot him an indecipherable look, though nodded as if to say he was correct.

Chuck spoke up after Newt. “And to the right is Scorpius.” He pointed his finger towards the constellation. “And that star is Antares. It’ll die soon.” When no one responded, he added, “I mean, not in our lifetime, of course.”

“Thank the heavens,” said Lady Sasha, smirking in the direction of Hansen, who shrugged his shoulders.

Gottlieb continued to adjust the levers and control the artificial sky around him, pointing out and explaining constellations as they appeared. A few of the others threw in requests here and there for formations they were familiar with, but Newt stayed quiet outside of prompted questions that Chuck didn’t answer first. 

They went through the zodiac and many of the other classic constellations, like Pegasus and Hercules, Ursa Minor and Major, and Puppis and Pyxis, and Newt simply settled to take in the beauty of the experience. As the dots of light fluttered past him with the turn of the globe, he felt their gentle glow as if he were lying on the moon of a distant planet, surrounded by dim stars that freckled him with their warmth. 

They must have gone through twenty or more constellations by the time that Lady Sasha announced that she wanted to retire for the evening. 

Newt felt his face fall at the implication that his time in the planetarium was over for the night, until Lord Kaidonovsky stated that he would be staying up for some time still. 

“Perhaps you all might like to look at my husband’s collection of star maps that he keeps in his library,” volunteered Lady Sasha before she left. “He has ones from all over the world, even Antarctica and the Americas.”

Chuck’s eyes lit up at their mention. “Oh, very much so,” he said towards the lord. 

Lord Kaidonovsky looked at Hansen, who agreed, and then to Newt and Gottlieb. Newt was about to half-heartedly agree to retiring the room when Gottlieb spoke first. 

“Might Mr. Geiszler and I stay behind so that I can show him the inner workings of the machine?” offered Gottlieb to Newt’s shock, though he couldn’t find it in himself to argue. He was desperate to stay as long as he could in the magical space, even if it meant spending the time with Gottlieb.

“Very well,” approved Lord Kaidonovsky.

“We will probably stay another hour or so,” said Hansen towards Newt, “and then return to the cottage, if you would like to walk with us. Otherwise, you’re welcome to walk back on your own, if you decide to stay longer, so long as you’re not disturbing Mr. Gottlieb.” 

Newt nodded and bid him goodbye for now, and soon they had all left and it was just Gottlieb and him in the room of artificial stars. 

It was Gottlieb who eventually broke the silence. “Would you like to see the machine up close?"

“Oh, very much so,” said Newt, unable to resist as he bounded over to the large orb in the middle of the floor. Gottlieb bent down, and Newt followed suit. He couldn’t help but realize how close they were to one another, though that was the end of how willing he was to acknowledge it.

Gottlieb brought his hand to a small sliding door near the bottom of the globe and pulled it open, revealing the inner workings of the contraption. 

It was full of metal gears and silver chains that shined in the light of the small candle in the center, all still at the moment, and as Newt looked further in, he could see that the chains were attached to sliding sheets of perforated metal that slid around the framework. More than that, there were thick, curved lenses of glass and mirrors angled within the machine that caught the light from the burning candle before it exited through the small holes on the shell. 

“Fascinating,” said Newt, taking it all in. 

“It’s rather simple, really,” said Gottlieb modestly as he watched him explore inside the machine. “Just a lot of studying Lord Kaidonovsky’s maps and playing with reflection and magnification.” 

“Don’t make it sound so humble,” said Newt, unable to refrain from disclosing his honest thoughts any longer. “It’s a work of art, is what it is. Brilliant, really.”

Gottlieb was silent at the compliment and instead returned to standing, using his cane to support himself on his way up. After closing the small door of the machine once more, Newt did the same. 

“The candle appears to have almost run its course, but I think we have time for a few more. Do you have any favorites that you’d like to see?” asked Gottlieb, gripping his free hand on the head of one of the levers. 

Newt thought for a moment before answering. “Are you able to bring up the Seven Sisters?”

Gottlieb nodded and adjusted the levers so that they stood at 125° and 75°, respectively. The light spun about the room until it settled on the image of the mid-February sky at midnight. 

“The Pleiades star cluster,” said Gottlieb, gesturing towards the grouping of stars to Newt’s right. 

Newt laughed in amazement as he looked on at the stars. “I’ve only ever been able to see six, before.”

“Those are all that are visible to the naked eye,” elaborated Gottlieb, and though Newt considered announcing that he already knew that, he remained silent as he spoke. “The forgotten sister, some call her.”

“Right. The only goddess amongst them to marry a mortal,” said Newt, remembering the ancient story. 

Gottlieb didn’t reply for a moment, as if taking in Newt’s words.

Newt filled the silence, rather than let it continue. “There are those that have wondered if they’re all the same original stars, or if some have dimmed out to be replaced by ones much brighter over the years. It’s a shame there are no ancient Greeks left to ask.”

Gottlieb laughed, though Newt hadn’t thought the joke that funny. Newt offered a smile in return, surprised at how pleasant of a time he was finding himself having at the moment. 

“Might I show you one?” asked Gottlieb. 

“Certainly. I’d rather like that.”

“Would you like to operate the levers?” offered Gottlieb, and Newt nodded eagerly. 

He guided him towards the first lever. “Now, grip the handle,” he instructed, and Newt did. Gottlieb then placed his hands over Newt’s and pulled the lever towards them, guiding him. Their fingers nearly laced together, and, much to his horror, he found himself enamoured with the warmth offered by the embrace. He felt his own body heat grow a few degrees.

“First, we will take us to early July,” he explained as they settled the lever at a 145° angle. They took up the second handle now, Gottlieb doing the same as he’d done before, curling his hand over Newt’s. 

“Now, we will bring us to the morning, just before sunrise,” said Gottlieb softly as together they pushed the lever in the opposite direction until it rested at 30°. His hand lingered on Newt’s for a moment before pulling away, Newt following suit.

_Okay, definitely not going to overthink that one._

He turned to look for the constellation that Gottlieb had selected but wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to be acknowledging. He glanced over at him, who noticed and took it as an offer to explain. 

“If you look right there, near Delphinus and Vulpecula, you’ll be able to make out Altair and Vega,” he said, gesturing above him. 

Newt could spot the first two, but had to admit that he didn’t know what the latter were. He looked to Gottlieb for help, and the other man got closer to him until they were shoulder to shoulder. 

Gottlieb lifted his arm to point at the brightest star of Lyra. “That there is Vega, or, if you’d rather, Zhinü,” he explained, and then pointed lower down the wall. Newt followed the imaginary line of his finger until he saw what he was pointing at. “And that’s Altair, or Niulang.” 

“I can’t say I’m familiar with those,” said Newt quietly. 

“Many here aren’t,” said Gottlieb, and Newt didn’t take it as an insult like he might’ve before, and instead quietly listened as the other man continued. “It’s a Chinese story of two lovers, a weaver girl and a cow herder. I’ve been told variations over the years but the idea is that her parents were not happy about the match and forced them apart. Thus, the girl’s parents forced them on opposite sides of the nearby river, the girl with her loom and the boy with his herd.”

“That’s terribly sad,” said Newt as he gazed at the lovers on the wall, flickering so far away from one another, unable to touch. 

“In some versions,” Gottlieb continued, “she is from a family of gods and he is a mortal, and that is the reason for tearing them apart. In those stories, the river is carved by her immortal family to separate them.”

 _Not much of a happier version, is it?_ thought Newt to himself, though he remained quietly listening to Gottlieb, whose voice had become so hushed that he nearly had to strain to hear it.

“In all of the stories, though, they can spend one night together a year. They say that the magpies come to form a bridge on that night, so that they might cross it and meet once more.”

Newt turned to look at Gottlieb, who now watched him as well. The walls around them twinkled, and suddenly the star-crossed lovers of the story seemed to fill Newt with hope and not sadness, though what that hope asked for seemed muddied in his mind.

In an instant, the room fell dark as the candle that ran the contraption came to the end of its wick and went out. Newt didn’t panic, but instead stood motionless, the sound of Gottlieb breathing right next to him the only thing to be heard in the still room.

“The candle must have burnt out,” said Gottlieb in an almost whisper, though he didn’t move. 

“I’d probably say that’s a safe bet, yeah,” said Newt, who was about to start searching for the door again when he felt the gentle sensation of Gottlieb’s fingers brush against the back of his hand. They hesitated for a moment, before finally interlocking with Newt’s gently and slowly.

Before Newt could realize what he was doing, he’d accepted the other man’s hand in his. He heard Gottlieb’s breath falter for a moment as he did so. 

_What am I doing?_

“Mr. Gottlieb,” said Newt, and suddenly the other man let go of his hand.

“I’m sorry,” said Gottlieb, voice full of panic, and Newt could tell that he was about to step away. He found himself grabbing the other man’s arm and pulling him back instinctively. Gottlieb went quiet, and Newt didn’t know what to say, but found himself speaking regardless. 

“I didn’t -” he started, before faltering. He could feel the pounding of Gottlieb’s heartbeat as he gripped his arm. He took a deep breath, and continued. “I mean, rather, I didn’t mean for you to stop.” _Oh, what am I saying!?_

Gottlieb paused, and Newt wished he could see a damn thing in the room. If he could, he would’ve been able to see Gottlieb bringing his hand up to Newt’s face, but instead he stood there blind as the other man cupped his cheek in the dark with quivering tenderness. 

As if his body and not his mind controlled him, Newt could feel himself raising up on his toes and leaning in towards the other man, feeling his breath against his lips from what must have been only inches away. He wanted to pull away, but couldn’t bear to at the same time out of some entirely unknown force in the center of his chest that pushed him nearer. 

Newt’s brain was full of every reason why this was the absolute worst idea that he’d ever had, but his body refused to pull away, and suddenly he was overwhelmed with the aching need to feel the other man’s lips against his, to tangle his fingers in his brown hair and pull him close. 

“Kiss me,” breathed Newt before his better judgement could stop him, and then Gottlieb’s lips were against his own, and all bets were off, as they say.

There was nothing shy about Gottlieb in this moment, as he began making quick work of Newt’s lips almost desperately. Newt raised his arms to grip the lapels of Gottlieb’s jacket to pull him tight against his body, and Gottlieb’s hand abandoned its place on Newt’s cheek to find itself on the small of Newt’s back, his other still holding his cane. 

Gottlieb’s lips were sweet, reminiscent of the cherry wine they’d been served at dinner, and Newt couldn’t get enough. He ran his tongue against them, which made Gottlieb groan and only made Newt hungrier, despite the fact that he entirely still did not know _what the fuck he was doing_. 

Clearly, his body cared little about the specifics as Newt found himself pushing the taller man against the heavy globe and kissing him harder, putting one hand on the bronze behind him to support their weights. Gottlieb abandoned his cane with a clatter on the ground and leaned back on the globe until Newt was halfway on top of him. Even in his lustful state, Newt was careful to steady them so that Gottlieb didn’t slide off.

He felt Gottlieb’s newly freed hand clutch his ass beneath his tailcoat and squeeze, then again, harder, and Newt had to pull away from Gottlieb’s mouth to moan in pleasure. Gottlieb’s mouth wasted no time in finding the bare skin of Newt’s neck and began kissing it. 

“Fucking _hell_ ,” groaned Newt. _That was definitely going to leave a mark._

Newt could feel his glasses begin to rise off his nose as Gottlieb began to kiss his bareshaven jaw, but couldn’t have cared less; they weren’t doing him too much good in this scenario anyways. 

They went on like this for a few moments before Gottlieb had to pull away to breathe. 

“Mr. Geiszler,” he panted, leaning his forehead against Newt’s shoulder. Newt could feel the sweat on his own forehead drip down his face and was grateful that the other man could not see what he looked like.

“Mr. Gottlieb,” Newt started, when abruptly a loud knock came from outside the room. 

With the quickness of a terrified rabbit, Newt slid off Gottlieb, who propped himself up with his forearms on the globe behind him as the door opened, light from the hallway flooding into the formerly black room. 

It was Chuck who stuck his head in the door. Newt wiped his damp forehead with the sleeve of his jacket and tried to stop breathing so heavily, hoping that his disheveled state was not so obvious from the doorway.

“We’re leaving early,” said Chuck with a bored voice, looking at them with an unimpressed gaze, “if you’d like to walk back with us.” He barely seemed to notice that the room was entirely dark now.

“You go on ahead,” said Newt with a shaky voice that he tried desperately to steady. “I’ll walk back on my own, thanks.”

Chuck simply nodded and departed, though he left the door to the hallway open which Newt took to be a subtle indication that he’d clearly recognized that he and Gottlieb had been in the dark. _Fuck._

“Mr. Gottlieb,” Newt started, turning back to face the other man as soon as Chuck was gone. 

Gottlieb silenced him with a motion of his hands. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Geiszler,” he said stiffly, his entire face having turned into a grimace. “I seem to have misplaced the time. I should let you get going.” With that, he turned towards the door, but Newt grabbed him by the arm before he could make his exit. 

“Excuse me?” said Newt, furrowing his brow. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

Gottlieb looked at him with an empty stare. “What? Is there more to discuss?”

Newt held himself back from shouting at the other man, given that they were in Wincaster and might get the unwanted attention of a servant, or worse, the Kaidonovsky’s. “What?” asked Newt as quietly as he could make himself. “Are you going to pretend that that didn’t just happen, then?”

Gottlieb’s expression turned quizzical, which made Newt only want to shout at him more. “Is there apparently more that is required of me that has missed my attention, or might I retire to my room?” he said, sharply. 

Newt was taken aback by his retort and said nothing for a moment, dropping Gottlieb’s arm. Gottlieb continued to make his exit out the room, only stopping once he was almost through the doorway, though he didn’t turn back to look. 

“Goodnight, Mr. Geiszler,” he said, not waiting for Newt to respond before he disappeared down the hallway. 

Newt simply stood there, dumbstruck. He didn’t know whether he should be hurt or shocked or offended or grateful that it was all over, so instead he just remained in the empty domed room just as confused as he’d ever been. He wished that he could run to tell Mako or Tendo what had just happened so that they could help him make sense of it, but they were miles away and Newt was alone with no one to confide in.

Finally, he tired of standing there and decided to venture into the halls to hopefully find a maid or footman who would help him navigate his way out of the maze of a house, though that was only the beginning of how lost he was beginning to feel. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost: Absolutely nothing about the planetarium is up to fire code. Just want it to be clear that I entirely understand that. So don't, like, build it at home. 
> 
> With that off my chest, I just want to give a HUGE thank you to everyone who has read, commented, and kudo'd so far. This has been a project that I've been working on since late May, and it's amazing to finally be sharing it with the world and to see people enjoying it. Chapters are going to be added sporadically, as I do my final edits and find time to post them, but I hope to have it all up by the end of September 2020! 
> 
> Again, thank you so much to everyone who's made it nearly 40k words into a *Pacific Rim* *Pride and Prejudice AU* (what a combination of words; I really expected to be the only person who would have ANY interest in this!) and has enjoyed it so far! You fill my heart with butterflies and chocolate coins <3


	12. Revelations

Over breakfast at the cottage the following morning, Newt was informed that Lady Sasha had requested him in the drawing room at Wincaster for the afternoon. He suspected this was in regards to his promise at dinner the night before, and accepted the invitation. He’d had to wear perhaps not his nicest shirt, but the one with the tallest collar, to hide the bitter reminder of the evening prior on his neck. 

Regardless, he joined her within the hour, and at present, she leaned against the piano as Newt plucked out a Clementi sonata that his uncle Illia had taught him years and years ago. When Newt found himself able to glance up from the keys beneath his fingers, he saw that she seemed to be enjoying the music, as she wore a pleasant expression on her face. 

“Oh, Mr. Geiszler, you spoke much too humbly of yourself before. You are quite wonderful at this,” she laughed as he played the final notes. 

The sun beamed down on her from the windows that had been drawn open nearby, causing her light blonde hair to look even more stark. It didn’t make her look older, Newt considered as he looked up at her, but instead almost ethereal, like a magical being had walked off the pages of a fairy tale book and found her way to Bishop’s Grove. 

“Now you are the flatterer,” said Newt, and the chamber echoed with the ringing sound of Lady Sasha’s delightful laugh. She insisted that he play another, so Newt settled for an old Dušek piece that he knew by heart, an allegro movement that Lady Sasha was sure to like. Certainly enough, she expressed her admiration with plenty of ooh’s and awe’s, even when he occasionally hit the wrong notes as his hands crossed over one another in their quick motions. 

He carried on afterwards, playing a few other numbers that he knew by heart before deciding to shuffle through the sheet music that sat on the music shelf above the keyboard, settling on an adagio piece that looked simple enough to read _prima vista._

He was only just beginning to play the unfamiliar piece when Lady Sasha began chatting absentmindedly. 

“Forgive me if you’ve already said, but remind me how you and Mr. Gottlieb made each other’s acquaintance." 

Newt concentrated on the music notes ahead of him, but still managed to answer. “We met at a ball in Sladehall End, when he was with his companions, Mr. Becket and Miss Ainsworth." 

“Right, right,” said Lady Sasha, remembering. “That Miss Ainsworth is delightful, and of course I am very familiar with Mr. Raleigh. Such a charming fellow.” 

“I found him to be very pleasant,” said Newt, still looking at the music. _Until he broke my friend’s heart with little more than a passing wave,_ he thought to himself, careful not to speak that part aloud. 

“Oh, yes,” said Lady Sasha. “He’s come here many a times alongside Mr. Gottlieb, They’ve always been rather the closest of friends.”

“Yes, Mr. Gottlieb is always uncommonly kind to Mr. Becket, it seems.” It was certainly a friendship that he would never understand. 

“He takes great care of his friend, that is true,” agreed Lady Sasha, thoughtfully. “I understand that he congratulates himself on having lately saved Mr. Becket the inconvenience of a most imprudent marriage.”

Newt stopped playing for a moment and simply hovered entirely still over the ivory keys. He knew, obviously, that Lady Sasha must be speaking of his Mako, which meant that his suspicions about Gottlieb being the reason behind Becket’s sudden and wordless departure had been true. 

He saw Lady Sasha turn to look at him curiously, and he quickly remembered where he had been in the piece and continued playing. “Is that so?” he asked as calmly as he muster. 

“Indeed,” said Lady Sasha, turning to look out the window once again. “I hear that there were some objections to the lady.”

“Were they in regards to the young lady’s family, perchance? Or her fortune?” said Newt, entirely civilly. 

“I don’t believe either. They were more… _personal_ objections, from what I gather.”

_Great._

“And were these Mr. Becket’s objections, or Mr. Gottlieb’s?” asked Newt, unable to hold his tongue any longer. 

Lady Sasha looked surprised at his sudden comment. “You believe his interference to be officious, then?”

Newt couldn’t contain himself. “I simply do not see why it was Mr. Gottlieb’s duty to determine and direct what manner his friend was to be happy,” he seethed, finding himself pressing harder down onto the keys than he intended. 

Lady Sasha gazed at him with the utmost interest as he tried his best to conceal his anger. “Perhaps Mr. Gottlieb saw something wrong with the match that simply Mr. Becket had been blind to,” said Lady Sasha slowly as she watched Newt’s expressions carefully. 

Newt quickly improvised an ending to the piece and took a deep breath. 

“Are you all right, Mr. Geiszler?” asked Lady Sasha, looking concerned. 

“A sudden headache is all,” said Newt, standing up from the piano bench. “Perhaps I ought to return to the cottage and lay down.” 

Lady Sasha went to offer her arm, but Newt refused. “Why don’t you stay here and lie down?” she offered, and when Newt politely declined, continued, “Or at least allow me to call the carriage to take you back.” 

“Oh, no,” said Newt, making his way quickly to the door. “That would be far too much hassle to avoid a short walk. I’ll be perfectly fine.” He hurriedly made his farewell and said his thanks for allowing him to play her piano and left the room. 

* * *

As Newt rushed through the cottage doors, out of breath and full of rage, Hansen called out to him. “You’ve received a letter, Newton.”

Newt paused, turning to look at Hansen. The older man held a narrow envelope in his hand that had been sealed with a small red stamp that bore the letters _M.M._

_Mako._

She’d finally written back. Newt took the envelope quickly and thanked Hansen over his shoulder before making a beeline for his room. 

As soon as he was alone on his unfamiliar bed with the door closed, he tore open the envelope and unfolded Mako’s letter, written in her familiar, loopy handwriting. 

_July the thirteenth, 1813._

_My dearest Newton, here I write to you, comfortable and at peace on Gracechurch Street. Father’s friends are lovely and attentive and the evenings are full of entertainment and conversation; all I lack is you, my friend, to make me laugh at myself._

Newt smiled as he read that line, feeling his previous rage soften into longing for his friend to be near again.

_I received your letter about your recent plans to travel to Wincaster, as well as your other one, and I hope you are quite enjoying yourself; I know that whatever that space machine you’ve frequently rambled on about is there, and I hope it is just as impressive in person as on paper. You had mentioned that you would be travelling with the Hansen men, and while I remember the elder Mr. Hansen with only fondness, I seem to recall that my interactions with Chuck as a very young child largely consisted of me trying to get him to play while he insisted on sulking and meddling with the hunting hounds his father owned. I do hope his disposition has improved, for your sake._

_Though the thought had tempted me when I first arrived nearly two weeks ago,_ Mako’s letter continued, _I have restrained from enquiring after Mr. Becket or Miss Ainsworth; though I know them to be in town, I do not know for certain if they know of my presence, but I find it to be better that way. If they do know, and choose to seek my presence, they will let it be known, but until then, we shan’t meet except perhaps as polite strangers at the opera or oblivious partners at a masked ball, and I am content with it staying that way._

_I’m sorry for having not written sooner, and I appreciate your having sent the Wincaster address with your most recent letter, and I know that you must have been disheartened by my lack of responses until today. I must confess, however, that I have sought each day to forget the most recent months in their entirety, and though the thought of you does little but bring my heart joy, I knew you would be wondering how I was getting on and I fear I wasn’t quite sure how I was doing until now._

_However, I now realize that I will quite go on without Becket even though my heart may continue to love him, as he has given it no reason to cease, and that it will be okay, and that I can be happy even though he most certainly no longer cares for me. So long as I have friends like you, Newton, I know that I will go on just fine, and I do know that we will soon be together again and happy once more and will forget someday that all of this has happened, and I know that I long for that day as equally as you, and I promise that it shall come. And while we wait for it, thank you for being my continued friend, Newton, through thick and thin. I sometimes wonder what I have done to deserve it, but know that I cherish it each day._

_Please send my regards to the Hansen gentlemen and take care of yourself until we see each other again soon._

_With the most love and well-wishes,_

_Mako Mori_

Newt reread the letter twice more before he clutched it to his chest and fell back on his pillows to stare up at the ceiling above him. 

Though she had insisted on her happiness, Newt doubted her surety on the subject. With the new information that Lady Sasha had divulged to him, the letter took on an entirely new meaning to Newt, serving less as a vessel for Mako’s thoughts and instead as a testament to Gottlieb’s cruelty and selfishness. 

_The inconvenience of a most imprudent marriage._ Lady Sasha’s words echoed in his mind as his eyes traced the cracks in the ceiling. 

What had Gottlieb told his companions about Mako to make her seem objectionable? What had she done, besides disregard a social rule or two, that made her out to be a threat to Becket’s good name? 

Whatever Gottlieb had said, Newt knew that they must have been lies, as he knew that Gottlieb’s disapproval was less about Mako than it was about Newt. He felt his heartbeat hasten as he got angrier by the second.

From the moment Gottlieb had set his eyes on Newt, he had clearly disliked him and found him entirely disagreeable, and for that reason he’d decided to ruin the happiness of not only Mako but his own friend, Becket. _Ho_ _w could Gottlieb even call himself a friend of Becket,_ Newt thought, _when he clearly cared so little about his friend’s affections?_

As Newt laid there in anger, he thought about the night before, when Gottlieb had made the first move and then they were kissing. _What the fuck had that been about?_

Newt knew, with every fiber of his being, that Gottlieb despised him as much as _he_ abhorred _him_. This was a certain fact. So why had he done it? Had it been hate-fueled lust? Perhaps Gottlieb had drunk more than Newt had realized at dinner and gotten word back in Sladehall End that Newt was as gay as a maypole and, given the darkness of the room, taken advantage of the potential for near-anonymous sex that Newt had foolishly and eagerly accepted. 

“What a complete _ass,"_ said Newt to no one in his empty room, though he wasn’t sure whether he was referring to Gottlieb or himself. 

Regardless of why it happened, it had been made clear by the end of the event that Gottlieb had regretted the event and meant to return to their previous state of mutual loathing. 

_Well, lucky for him,_ thought Newt as he chewed the inside of his cheek, _because I have absolutely no intention of showing him any kindness from this moment forward._

* * *

Newt must have fallen asleep amidst his anger, as he was soon awoken by a knock on the door. 

“Come in,” said Newt, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and pushing himself up with his elbows. 

The door opened to reveal Chuck, Max at his feet. “We’ll be leaving for dinner at Wincaster soon, so you better get ready,” said Chuck flatly. 

Though Newt could feel his stomach rumbling with hunger, he couldn’t bring himself to accept the invitation, as he suspected that Gottlieb would be joining them and he’d rather that they avoided each other as much as possible while Newt remained at Bishop’s Grove. 

“You will have to give Lord and Lady Kaidonovsky my apologies, as I have a headache and won’t be able to make it tonight,” said Newt, attempting to make himself sound weak and exhausted. 

“Right,” said Chuck, and then he closed the door. As he had been the night before, Newt was thankful for his tendency to not mince words and laid back down to sleep once more, praying that the sabbatical from his waking mind might last until morning.


	13. Opportunity

Newt’s prayers had been answered, as the next time he blinked his eyes open it was daybreak. He’d fallen asleep without closing his window, and as he sat up in the bed, he saw that a small green bird with a distinctive yellow eyebrow had perched on the sill. It took him a moment to identify it as a rare yellow-browed warbler; he hadn’t seen one outside of the illustrations in books before. They were native to the Siberian kingdom, he knew, and migrated south-westwards through England on occasion, but none had ever stopped in either Sladehall End nor Brampfast before, at least not when Newt had been present. 

The bird let out a sharp tit-like call, as if to help wake Newt up. Newt tried his best to whistle back the same tune. The bird called out once again, though Newt suspected it was likely not a response to him. 

His conversation with the warbler was interrupted as a knock came from the closed door, causing the bird to fly away and Newt to turn and face the entryway to his room.

“Come in,” called Newt.

Hansen opened the door and entered, looking at Newt with concern. “Are you feeling better, son?” he asked, giving Newt a careful once-over as if to check for any broken bones or egregious stains. 

Newt was about to ask what he meant, until he remembered the headache he’d feigned the day before. “Oh, yes, I certainly am,” he said after he hesitated, forcing a smile on his face. “Thank you for asking.”

Hansen nodded thoughtfully. “I’m glad to hear it. We’ve just come back from church, and are about to settle on some breakfast. We’ll be going fishing with Lord Kaidonovsky on the lake after, if you’d care to join.”

Newt shook his head. Though he was no vegetarian, he much preferred to watch fish swim happily than see them hooked and killed. “I’ll join you for breakfast, but on behalf of the fishing I must decline.”

“Suit yourself,” said Hansen, turning to walk out the door again.

After getting ready, Newt shared breakfast with the two men and then saw them off for the day. Hansen had informed him while they ate that they intended to dine on sandwiches and fruit at the cottage this evening rather than take dinner at the great house. Newt was grateful to hear it, as it meant that he didn’t have to fret over whether or not to excuse himself from dinner again. He doubted that he could avoid Gottlieb entirely while he remained in Bishop’s Grove, but he would be damned if he didn’t try his hardest. 

Newt spent the remainder of the morning lingering in the garden, mentally cataloguing all of the unique insect and plant species that he observed and watching the butterflies lazily circle the rambling roses.

The serenity of the half-wild garden helped him to let go of some of the rage that had roared within him all night and half of yesterday. Newt had never liked being angry and the intense resentment that he harbored at the thought of Gottlieb left a sour taste in his mouth that he simply wanted to forget. So, he decided that rather than nurture the fire he would instead attempt to put it out and try to fill his mind with things like thoughts of returning home, seeing Mako, sharing a bottle of gin with Tendo, and seeing if those soldiers were still in town. It worked well enough, most of the time.

Soon, the afternoon sun hung directly above the garden, and it became too hot for Newt to remain outside, so he went back into the cottage.

As he entered, he found a young maid dusting the fireplace who startled at his sudden appearance. 

“Oh! I’m sorry, sir. I figured that you had gone with the others to the lake, sir,” she apologized quickly, preparing to leave. 

“Oh, no,” assured Newt, shaking his head quickly. “It’s absolutely fine; you’re more than welcome to finish.” It was strange to be on the other end of this; he wasn’t sure he liked it.

The girl paused awkwardly for a moment before returning to her cleaning, her back facing him. 

Newt tried to avoid bothering her too much, and decided to compose a response letter for Mako at the desk that sat in the corner of the room. Sitting down at it, he procured a sheet of blank paper from the desk’s drawer and gathered a bottle of ink and a clean pen.

After dipping his utensil in the black ink, he brought it to the empty page that sat before him. 

_July the eighteenth, 1813._

_My dear Mako. You haven’t the faintest how much it fills me with joy to hear from you. I am glad that your hosts have been kind and generous, as mine have been since I arrived at Wincaster, though I share with you my yearning for your companionship. I have little doubt you’d love it here, and have thought it often._

_I blame you little for avoiding Becket and Miss Ainsworth, though you might find it ironic to hear that as you escape their company, the presence of Mr. Gottlieb has been forced upon me in Bishop’s Hall. I can assure you that he is just as contemptuous and rude as he was in Sladehall End. I realized with great disappointment the other evening that the great Kaidonovsky planetarium that you so lovingly referred to as a “space machine” was the result of Gottlieb’s work -_

Suddenly, the sound of the doorbell ringing pierced the silent room, causing both Newt and the servant girl to jump. The girl started to go towards the door, but Newt stopped her.

“You’ll get in trouble if they see you working in the room while I’m present,” said Newt, and from the look she gave him, he could tell she held the same concern.

“Go work on one of the bedrooms,” he instructed, and she nodded, then hurriedly left the room.

The doorbell rang again. “One moment,” shouted Newt as he put down his pen and waved his letter to dry the ink before hiding the stationary in the desk drawer. 

Quickly looking to make sure he didn’t get any ink on his hands (he hadn’t), he walked over to the door and opened it.

On the doorstep stood Mr. Gottlieb, gloved hand clenched around the head of his cane, ruffled collar stiff at the neck. He looked as though he had been about to leave and was surprised to see Newt in the doorway, though surely not as surprised as Newt was to see him there.

“Hello, Mr. Geiszler,” said Gottlieb with infuriating formality.

“Um, hello,” was all Newt could think to say back. He was too dumbfounded at the sudden appearance of the man to remember any more polite, societal greetings. 

Gottlieb cleared his throat, but still Newt just stood there. Had he come looking for Hansen, or even Chuck? Or did he need some random book that just happened to be exclusively in the cottage? Or had they entirely run out of food at the main house and desperately needed the last bit of flour that aged in their kitchen?

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Oh,” said Newt, before gracelessly stepping backwards to let Gottlieb in. Apparently that was enough for Gottlieb as he marched into the parlour, Newt closing the front door behind them. 

“We didn’t see you at dinner last night,” said Gottlieb, standing rigid in the middle of the room.

“No, you didn’t,” said Newt, not quite sure what they were going for in this competition of stating the obvious. 

“I heard you were unwell.” 

“Yes,” said Newt, flatly. “But I’ve recovered.”

“That’s good.”

“Sure is.”

The room fell silent, Newt hyperaware of the sound of his own breathing and, frankly, quite tired of this already.

“Is there something I can do for you, sir?” blurted Newt out of desperate need to understand the reason for this impromptu visit.

“No, there isn’t,” said Gottlieb, as if declaring it.

“Well, then,” asked Newt, trying to figure out which of the twenty questions he needed to ask to figure out what the fuck was going on. “Might I ask to what I owe the pleasure, then?” 

Gottlieb fumbled for words, repeatedly opening his mouth and closing it before finally speaking once more. “Can you just sit down?” he said sharply, and suddenly all the meditation that Newt had practiced in the morning was out the window. He felt his entire body go red with heat.

“You have the audacity to think you can boss me around, in my own home?” asked Newt incredulously, and though he knew that the Wincaster guest house was not necessarily _his,_ he didn’t bother to correct himself.

“No - no, I don’t,” said Gottlieb over him, “I didn’t mean it like that. Please.” 

Finally Newt stopped talking, if only to glower at the man in the middle of the room that was declaratively _his_ at present. 

“What I meant to say, was,” said Gottlieb with an exhausted sigh, clasping both of his hands on the head of his cane, “would you please, Mr. Geiszler, sit over there.”

Newt almost shouted at him on the spot for the continued orders, but decided against it, seeing as there was a poor young maid working on a bedroom within earshot who didn’t need to get caught in the crossfire. Finally, he surrendered and sat down. 

“What now?” asked Newt in a calmer, albeit just as sharp tone. 

Gottlieb still stood where he had before, directly facing Newt. Newt could see the muscles of his forehead tensing and untensing as he inhaled and exhaled, delicately wetting his chapped lips with his tongue as he failed to speak. 

“Please, I have things to see to -” Newt said as he began to stand back up, having given Gottlieb too much of his time already. As he did so, Gottlieb finally began to speak, loudly, over Newton, who was forced to sit back down and listen.

“Mr. Geiszler,” said Gottlieb as he pushed back the hair that laid against his wrinkled forehead with his free hand. “It is with little pride that I say what I am about to say, but I can prevent myself from doing so no longer."

"Oh, this ought to be good -"

_"Please,_ might I speak? This will only take a moment." 

_"Fine."_

"Thank you. As I was saying, ever since I first made your acquaintance back in Sladehall End, your arrogance and disdain for the rules of society have repelled me, as well as your insistence on drinking, swearing, shouting, and smoking at nearly all times. And yet, it has always been apparent, despite your shortcomings, that you possess a certain intelligence uncommon in most country tutors, and, if my presumption is correct, you are entirely a self-taught man, which has only made it all the more impressive.”

Newt wanted to interrupt and start barking at the man immediately, but bit his tongue. Whatever the hell it was that Gottlieb was about to say, Newt’s morbid curiosity wanted to hear it. 

Gottlieb rambled on, his voice picking up speed as he spoke as if he simply wanted it over with. “While I’m certain that you’re content in your position, I’m presuming that you are to be out of work soon, given, forgive me, the increasing age of your pupil. Perhaps you have plans for the upcoming years that are unbeknownst to me, but if you do not, I was wondering if you might, possibly,” and then the man paused, and let out a long sigh, before he finished his sentence. 

“If you, Mr. Geiszler, might want to come take a position under me at Summerworth, my home.”

And for a moment, time stopped for Newton as he sat there and comprehended everything that had just been said to him, and as he sat there, he suddenly felt the urge to giggle. With that urge came the uncontrollable laughter that followed, and soon Newt was grateful that he’d already been sitting down as he keeled over on the couch and laughed and laughed, and when, what seemed like ages later, he was able to control himself enough to lean back up and wipe the tears out of his eyes, he saw the horrified face of Gottlieb gaping at him, saying nothing, which only made it all the more hilarious to the currently incapacitated Newt. 

“I do apologize,” said Newt once he was finally able, and even with that came more laughter that he struggled in vain to swallow back down. “It’s just, that might have been the most _hilarious_ thing that anyone has ever said to me.”

_"Excuse_ me?” said Gottlieb, incredulously, as he stared at him.

Newt nodded and stifled his giggles that still threatened to be heard. “You really, _really_ have to forgive me. This almost never happens.”

“What on _earth_ are you talking about?”

Finally, Newt felt as though he could move past his most recent outburst without fear of it resurfacing, and cleared his throat to finally deal with what the fuck had just happened. 

“You see, Mr. Gottlieb,” said Newt as matter-of-factly as he could, “seeing as you are the last person I ever want to spend a single moment with in my entire life, it just utterly tickles me to think that you could possibly imagine, even in your most ridiculous dreams, that I might _ever_ want to come work for you at your stupid estate.” 

Gottlieb stared at him with wide eyes for a moment before he began speaking once more. “I understand you not desiring to come work for me,” he seethed as politely as he could, “but might I ask why I am seemingly owed such little civility in your rejection?”

Newt’s patience was beginning to wear thin with the man, and what came out of his mouth had perhaps been a tad louder than he’d originally intended. 

“You see, Mr. Gottlieb, I have this very, very dear friend, back in Sladehall End, whose happiness of the utmost importance to me, and this friend, you see, was once quite fond of one of _your_ friends, you might recall. I have reason to believe, as well, that _your_ friend was quite fond of _my_ friend, too; yet, a little bird has appeared to me and informed me that you, despite knowing the feelings of your friend, sought to end this relationship, and plucked your very friend from all of our lives.”

Gottlieb pursed his lips as he listened to Newt speak. 

“You can drop this game of charades. I know of what you’re speaking of, and I don’t deny it.”

“You don’t even deny it,” laughed Newt, feeling his rage begin to bubble up once more. “You don’t even have the _decency_ to deny that you purposefully caused the unhappiness of two people, one of them being your so-called friend.”

“No, I do not,” said Gottlieb, very seriously, looking Newt right in the eyes. “I believed your friend to be indifferent to Mr. Becket. She never seemed to pay him any more attention than she did any of the other gentlemen or soldiers, and her independent spirit rather gave me the impression that she had little interest in marriage. It was clear that his attachment was much deeper than hers, and I wanted to save him from the embarrassment of a rejected proposal, or worse, being jilted at the altar.”

Newt returned the gaze, if only so that Gottlieb might be able to see the anger he harbored within him. “Miss Mori was quite in love with Mr. Becket, I can promise you that.”

“Well, I never saw it,” said Gottlieb, though he turned away from Newt now.

“Well, then, you must be blind.”

“Evidently so.”

Newt’s heartbeat, by this point, matched that of a racehorse doing its last turn on the track. “Clearly, if you were unable to see my utter disdain for you.”

Gottlieb turned back to look at him, his eyes cold. “Perhaps I had thought that prior events had meant that you harbored different feelings towards me,” he said, tone utterly flat. 

“Oh, do you mean us fumbling around in that big, daft room of yours?” laughed Newt hoarsely. “You think that just because you were there and wanting a taste of _this,_ that it means that I _like_ you? Because you are mistaken _there,_ Mr. Gottlieb. For since the very moment I met you, your manners impressed me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others. And now, you stand before me, insulting my occupation, my status in life, the fact that I live in the country and wasn’t Oxford-educated, asking me to come be your servant? And for what, so you can blow out all the candles and sneak down to my quarters and have sad, anonymous sex with me while you cry about how cruel your thirty nannies growing up were to you?”

Gottlieb remained silent, his face having gone completely white. 

“Oh, that’s it, then? Hit the nail on the head, have I?” said Newt, who knew that he might be going too far but couldn’t stop; it all tumbled out of his mouth before he could shut it. “Well, Mr. Gottlieb, I can _assure_ you that I will not be accepting your offer anytime soon and wish you the best in your search for a better-suited candidate, and now, I must bid you good day, sir, if you’ll see yourself out. 

Gottlieb tried to interject, but Newt stopped him. “The way you came, please."

Gottlieb turned to face the door and started walking towards it. As he reached to turn the handle, he stopped and looked back at Newt, who still glowered at him from across the room.

“Thank you for your time in listening to me,” he said in a tight voice, “I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and apologize for having taken up so much of your time. Please accept my best wishes for your health and happiness, and send my regards to Bridewater.”

With that, he opened the door and left without looking back, closing the door with a loud _thunk_ behind him.

Newt stood in the room for a few moments following, trying to understand what the hell had just happened, when he was startled by the quiet voice of the servant girl from the hallway. 

“Might I come out now, sir?” she asked in almost a whisper, though it was clear that only she and Newt remained in the cottage. Oh, _shit._ They must have terrified the poor girl. 

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said, managing to put a fake smile on his face as if nothing were wrong. 

She looked like a terrified rabbit from where Newt stood across the room, and he felt terrible that she must’ve heard all of that. 

“Um, do you have much left to do?” he asked.

“No, sir,” she answered, shaking her head quickly. “I was about finished up in here before the knock came at the door, and all the bedrooms are done now, sir.” 

“Why don’t you call it a day, then, and head back to the house?” he offered, to which she instantly accepted, gathering up her things and almost flying out the door. 

Newt sat back down at the desk in the front parlour, though he no longer had any desire to keep writing. Instead, he placed his elbows on the surface and placed his head in his hands, letting out a deep sigh. 

_Fuck._


	14. An Extension

The sun had nearly set by the time that Hansen and Chuck returned from their fishing trip. Newt had just come back inside from aimlessly walking around the Wincaster woods, lost in thought about what the _hell_ had just happened, when the two came through the door carrying a basket from the main house full of cold turkey sandwiches, cheese, dried fruit, and fresh milk. It took no time for the three men to empty its contents and spread them out across the small kitchen table. 

At present, Newt was biting into a piece of dried fig as the Hansens shared their fishing stories. Chuck had just been recalling a particularly large trout that had apparently “gotten away” when Hansen looked as though he’d just remembered something important. Newt looked at the man quizzically as Chuck stopped talking. 

“Are you all right?” asked Newt. 

Hansen nodded. “Quite fine, thanks. I’d just forgotten to mention that we saw Mr. Gottlieb leaving as we were walking back to the cottage, in rather a hurry, it seemed.” 

Newt restrained from letting his true feelings read on his face, less either of the Hansens ask him why he looked so damn relieved. Instead, he tried to feign casual surprise but apparently failed. 

“You don’t look too shocked to hear it, Newton,” said Hansen, breaking a chunk of cheese off the brick. “Did you know of him leaving so soon?”

Newt shook his head. “No, I didn’t,” he said, before filling his mouth with sandwich. 

“I’m sad to see him go. Interesting man,” said Hansen thoughtfully, popping the cheese in his mouth.

Newt only nodded in response. 

“Well, he happened to invite us up to Summerworth, his estate, you know,” said Hansen casually after he’d swallowed, and Newt almost spit out the contents of his own mouth on the table. 

“He said he’d be gone for the following couple weeks,” continued Hansen, “so I thought we might take a detour up that direction after we leave Friday before dropping you back off. Maybe even stay through the week.” 

Newt quickly swallowed his sandwich and shook his head. “Oh, no, I don’t think I’ll be able to do that,” he said hurriedly with a faux-apologetic smile. “I’d better be returning to Mako soon; the Marshal will want us to get caught up, given all the lost time recently.”

Hansen shook his head. “No, Miss Mori won’t be returning for another month or so, if I remember correctly. You have plenty of time before she’s come home.”

“Still,” said Newt, feeling his argument weaken. “I’m sure the Marshal will be needing me for… something, soon. He’d be very upset if I didn’t return when he was expecting me.”

“I underestimated your dedication to the Pentecost family,” said Hansen, almost as if he felt touched, as Chuck took a swig of fresh milk straight from the bottle and rolled his eyes behind him. “I shall write to Stacker tonight and ask him if it will be an issue; I won’t even bother with the post. I’ll just get one of the stable boys here to take it directly there. I’m sure they’ll be able to spare one for a day or two.” 

Newt felt himself involuntarily sinking into his seat, his appetite entirely gone. Given the events of the last three days, no, the last few _months,_ remotely surrendering himself to the idea of voluntarily entering the territory of Mr. Gottlieb, even if he were to be apparently absent, seemed like a _terrible_ idea.

Yet, clearly, he had no excuse to get out of it without appearing incredibly rude, and given the kindness of Hansen and, hell, even Chuck towards him the last few days, Newt had no desire to insult either of them. 

Thus, Newt forced a smile on his face and sat back up in his seat. “Thank you,” he said, meekly, and, after a moment’s thought, added, “That’s very kind.”

Hansen smiled, blissfully unaware of Newt's inner misery, and patted him on the back. “Thank me not, Newton. It’s the least I can do.”

* * *

With excruciating speed, the Marshal had gotten back to Hansen and let him know that of _course_ it wouldn’t be an issue for Newt to stay as long as he wanted, and it would _perfectly_ fine for Newt to accompany them to Summerworth, and for once in Newt’s life, he yearned for a cruel tyrant of an employer who wouldn’t let him partake in any fun and kept him locked in a closet under the stairs and only fed him beans.

Unfortunately the only cruel tyrant with open positions that Newt was aware of was _at_ Summerworth, so a fat load of good that did him, really. 

Thus, five days had passed and there Newt was, saying his farewells to Lord and Lady Kaidonovsky, thanking them for their incredible generosity over the past week, which Newt really did mean. He tried hard to not let the memory of Gottlieb taint his recollections of the good times he had had at Wincaster, though it was difficult, as he seemed to creep into all of his reflections of the house. 

“Please do come again, dear Mr. Geiszler,” said Lady Sasha as she clasped her hands over his. “Your company has been utterly delightful and my piano will miss you greatly.”

Newt smiled, a hint of blush creeping towards his cheeks. “Thank you, Lady Sasha. I do hope to meet you again, some day, and see your beautiful home once more.” 

“Always the flatterer,” she grinned, and then Hansen and Chuck said their goodbyes to her as well, and once they had all wished one another good health and safe travels, the three men and dog boarded their carriage. 

Their coachman had almost shut the door behind them when suddenly Newt could hear Lady Sasha yelling _"Wait!"_ from outside. The door opened once more, and then Lady Sasha appeared before it, a sealed letter in her gloved hand. 

“Here, Mr. Gesizler,” she said, handing the letter to him. “Mr. Gottlieb asked me to give this to you before he left the other day, but I’ve continuously forgotten every time I see you. I even told Lord Kaidonovsky this morning that I’d be sure to forget to give it to you before you left today, didn’t I, Aleksis?”

Newt heard Lord Kaidonovsky say something indistinguishable from across the gravel as he took the letter from Lady Sasha’s hand and thanked her, and after they’d all said their _audieux_ once more, they were finally off. 

* * *

Newt was unable to find a private moment to read the strange letter from Mr. Gottlieb until they’d arrived at the inn in Taernsby, and even then he’d had to wait until after they’d eaten dinner at the small attached tavern and for them to return to their room, which consisted of two small single beds for Hansen and Chuck and a foldable cot for Newt. Hansen had tried to insist on getting him his own room, but Newt couldn’t let the other man spare such an expense on him and had insisted that the cot would be fine, which, for the majority, it was. 

Newt had waited until he heard Hansen snoring to carefully sit up, trying to avoid creaking the flimsy cot as much as possible, though the efforts seemed futile. He managed to not wake up Hansen, but he noticed Chuck leaning up in his bed to squint at him. 

“Just going out for a smoke,” whispered Newt, as he tried to quietly fling his legs over the side of the cot and stand up. He managed to do so, though not as expertly as he’d hoped. 

“Fine,” said Chuck in his normal speaking voice, rolling over to face the other side of the wall. 

Newt quickly gathered his jacket and slid on his shoes and left the shared room, going straight down the stairs and out the front entrance, waving as he passed to the innkeeper who sat drinking a whiskey by the fireplace. 

Once he was alone outside, he first took out a cigarette and lit it with a match, before pulling the envelope from its hiding place in his jacket pocket. 

He had hardly looked at it since Lady Sasha had first handed it to him. For some reason, he felt as though it needed to be kept hidden from Hansen and Chuck, even though they’d seen him be given it. However, he hadn’t the faintest what its contents were, and feared that if he were to read it in front of them, they might peer over his shoulder and read whatever horrors it might contain. He suspected that there couldn’t be anything too defamatory in there, though, seeing that it had to pass through the hands of Lady Sasha before it reached him, and though he didn’t have any doubts of her character, she wouldn’t have been the first person curious enough to open someone else’s mail. 

The envelope itself was a cream color, embossed on the back with a large red wax seal imprinted with the initials _H.G._ The seal looked perfectly untouched, so any concerns that Newt might have had regarding the sanctity of its contents dissipated quickly. 

Newt flipped the envelope over to look at the front, seeing his own name scrawled out in thin, tall cursive letters. The handwriting was elegant yet shaky, the graceful, rounded _G_ in _Geiszler_ ruined by the messiness of the ink. 

Newt stared at the envelope for a minute, flipping it back and forth in his hand as he dragged on his cigarette. As curious as Newt was to know what it contained, he also dreaded reading it, slightly afraid of what it might say inside. 

Over the past few days, he’d had a lot of private time to think about how he’d reacted to Mr. Gottlieb at the cottage, and though he’d felt very strongly in everything he’d said, he knew he’d pushed it too far at the end and had not only gravely insulted Gottlieb but had left himself uncomfortable with the state of his own character. 

Every hour it seemed as though he regretted his actions against Gottlieb more and more, yet he couldn’t deny that some of it represented exactly how he felt, particularly surrounding the issue of Mako and Mr. Becket. When it came to that, Newt still thought that what Gottlieb had done was unforgivable. Perhaps, though, he could have let him off more gently when it came to their own short-lived affair in the planetarium; he winced to think of how harsh he had been in that regard, and how spitefully he had thrown him out. Newt hadn’t even realized that he was capable of such brutality, and the knowledge of it deeply unsettled him.

He ran his fingers along the wax seal. He wasn’t sure exactly what he feared to be inside the envelope, though his mind raced from an entire essay of further insults to a legally binding document that forced him to keep quiet about their short night together. Not that the latter was needed; Newt barely had any desire to tell Mako or Tendo at the moment, let alone go public about it. To do so would require him to be honest about everything that he said, and he wasn’t prepared to make his own cruelty so evident to his friends.

Newt held the letter in his hands for so long that eventually his cigarette went out and he had to light a new one. As he did so, he finally resolved to open the envelope, breaking the wax seal with a hard crack and removing the parchment. 

Multiple pages had been stuffed inside, to Newt’s surprise. Each of them were full with Gottlieb’s precise but spidery penmanship. Newt unfolded the first page before him, using the flame of the nearby street lamp to illuminate the parchment. 

_July the eighteenth, 1813._

_Newton,_ the letter began, his name in large, thin letters, and Newt was caught off guard by the intimacy in the greeting. Not “Mr. Geiszler” or even “Newton Geiszler,” just “Newton,” in all its bareness. 

He attempted to push it to the back of his mind and began reading once more. 

_Newton,_

_By the time you will have been delivered this letter, I will have likely already left Bishop’s Grove and, perhaps, we may never see each other again, which, as it appears, would be of great satisfaction to you._

_Yet, I am unable to depart, if it is to be for the last time, without allowing myself to explain some issues that I was unable to speak of eloquently when we were together this afternoon, and I hope that you are still reading this letter, and haven’t already tossed it into the fire, for it would bring me great pain to know that I could not defend the truth in these matters._

_Foremost, I would like to discuss the issues of Miss Mako Mori and my companion, Mr. Raleigh Becket, whose dissolution I do not deny taking part in, but I feel as though I deserve some opportunity to better explain my side of the matter._

_To better understand my actions, you must understand the history I have with Mr. Becket. Our mothers had been friends since children and in time, so were our fathers, and thus our families spent a great deal of time together all throughout my life. Though the Beckets largely resided in London during the winter season, they would always visit during the summer months, and even the spring and autumn, on occasion. While I was four years older than the elder Becket brother, Yancy, he and my sister, Karla, were the same age; Raleigh was the baby of our group, seven years my junior. The four of us were inseparable as children; I frequently played the role of the worrisome father while the other three engaged in mischief seemingly tirelessly. I did not mind, though; the role suited me then as it does now, and we still managed to have great fun and to create wonderful memories with one another._

_As the four of us grew older, we maintained contact, my sister and I often visiting in London on our own to see the Becket brothers when I was not at school, and they doing the same to our home of Summerworth, in Taernsby. When my mother passed, when I was seventeen and Karla thirteen, it was Yancy and young Raleigh who comforted us as my father secluded himself in his study. Then, when both Mr. and Mrs. Becket were victim to the sinking of the_ H.M.S. Orpheus _five years later, we welcomed both of the recently-orphaned Becket boys into Summerworth, though eighteen-year-old Yancy had just been thrust into the head of his household and was expected to take over the great family fortune that had been amassed in trade by his father and grandfather._

Newt took a moment to pause here as he read about the fate of Mr. and Mrs. Becket. He remembered hearing about the sinking of the _H.M.S. Orpheus,_ years and years ago; it’d been a rather horrible event that had dominated all the papers. How tragic of a way to lose one’s parents, simultaneously, at only fifteen. 

He kept reading. _As Yancy returned to London to carry on the business, Raleigh, Karla, and I remained with my father in Taernsby, though Raleigh, still yet a boy, dearly missed his brother, who was nearly all that remained of the Becket family. Raleigh had been with our family for only a year when terrible news struck once again, this time from London, regarding the sudden passing of Yancy as he lost a battle with pneumonia. We hadn’t even known that he was sick; it seemed as though he thought he would recover quickly and hadn’t wanted to worry us, but as a result, he died alone, without his brother nor friends._

Newt involuntarily covered his mouth with his hand as he read on about the tragedies that had struck Becket during his life. He’d had no idea of the misfortunes that had so violently painted his youth. 

_Being in such close proximity to the death of both his parents, the news, as you might suspect, shattered young Raleigh. Within only a year, he had gone from the second-born with little to his personal fortune to the head of his family, though the sweetness that others might have felt by the promotion was bittered by not only the tragedies that had led up to it, but by the fact that he no longer had any family to lead. It took multiple years of my sister and I caring for him before he was able to continue in the world of the living once more._

_You see, Newton, that I and my sister are all that remain of Raleigh’s family and, as the closest person he has to a father or brother remaining, I take great concern in ensuring his best interests and happiness._

_Now, I had not long been in Sladehall End when I saw that Becket admired your student, and quickly I suspected that it was a rather serious attachment. Though I saw his partiality towards Miss Mori was clear, I did not detect within her any symptoms of peculiar regard. Though she was only ever congenial towards him, I felt as though the kindness was more out of friendliness than romantic attraction._

_I did not believe her to be indifferent because I wished it. I believed it on impartial conviction. For this reason, I feared that Miss Mori was to only bring more heartbreak into my companion’s life, and after having witnessed him suffer so much in these past five years, I could not allow it._

_Thus, I spoke plainly to my friend, letting him know my doubts of her affections as I honestly saw them. It was not terribly difficult to convince him of Miss Mori’s indifference, and we departed Sladehall End soon after._

Though Newt was still angry to see how heavily Gottlieb had involved himself in Becket and Mori’s innocent affair, he couldn’t deny that it seemed less, now, that Gottlieb had intentionally tried to ruin the happiness of his friend, and more as though Gottlieb had acted in what he thought to be his friend’s best interest. Newt struggled to blame him for it, as he saw that Gottlieb had only done for Becket what Newt likely would have for Mako, given the same situation.

Fucking hell. Could anything in his life get _more_ complicated? 

The letter continued on the next page. 

_On this subject, I have nothing more to say. However, I would like to now better explain myself in regards to our encounter this morning._

_Before I go any further, I must inform you of something that I suspect you will not like to hear. Yet, I can struggle in vain no longer without disclosing my true feelings towards you._

_You see, these past months have been of great torment to me, as I have come to know you more and more, and though I have fought against my own rationality, I can repress it no more. I must tell you, Newton, what has developed within me since I first spoke with you at you at the ball in Sladehall End, and that is my deep and unwavering devotion to your mind, body, and spirit. You see, I love you, most ardently, and against all my better judgement._

Newt almost dropped the pages as he read the last line, and he felt all of the colour drain from his face. 

_You are bright, Newton, and spontaneous, and endlessly fascinating, and so unlike anyone that I have ever encountered before. You have never once hesitated to speak your mind, even when most would hold their tongue, and I find your boldness not only admirable, but charming, at times, even when it takes the form of outrage at myself. Perhaps that is even when I find it to be the most bewitching, though I cannot begin to understand why. There were moments where I even believed you to be aware of the spell you'd cast over me, though I know now that that was only in my imagination._

_You ridiculed me as I proposed a job opportunity to you, and perhaps it was deserved. But I could see no other way to end my agony, in the moment. If we were man and woman, I could have proposed our union in simpler, more romantic terms; I would have asked for you for the honor of accepting my hand and pleaded that you spend the rest of your life with me._

_Given, however, the state of the law and the ruling Church, I did not feel as though I could do so and not be mocked, for I could never give you a true marriage; you would have to remain my lover in secret, when it comes to the grander public, and thus you’d never benefit from my estate in the way that a true partner would. It seemed as though a position at my estate would be the next best opportunity, but I see now that it only made me seem all the more ridiculous._

_But now, I understand that my feelings are not reciprocated, as you made it clear this afternoon, and I will respect your objections to my suggestion and spare you the awkwardness of declining the offer once more. I will most certainly move on from my ill-received affections, and can promise to bother you no further with any reopening of my case._

_I do apologize for the slights on your character, for it was never my intention to insult you. Sometimes I say not what I feel and instead what seems most accurate, and though I daresay that I never meant to offend you at Wincaster, it does appear that I have impressed injury upon you, and for that I am deeply sorry._

_As I said at the beginning of this letter, I do not see us encountering one another again, if not for a long time then for forever, but I hope that you have read up until this point as I step away from my confessions and conclude this letter. I do wish you the best in regards to your and your family’s health, and that, though we may never see each other again, this letter has served its purpose of instilling in you a sense of my perspective on the most recent months and that you might think back on me, someday, not with cruelty and though perhaps not with kindness, but with understanding and compassion._

_Sincerely,_

_Mr. Hermann Gottlieb_

Newt stared in silence at the pages he held in his hands for a moment as he processed all that he had just read. He realized that the cigarette that he had pinched between his fingers had long blown out, though he’d hardly taken more than a drag or two from it. He flicked the ash off it and shoved the end into his jacket pocket, but remained holding the letter in his hand. 

He turned back to the page when Gottlieb had confessed his true feelings towards Newt and read the line again. 

_You see, I love you, most ardently, and against all my better judgement._

He had… not been expecting that, to say the least, but strangely, it did not fill him with revulsion as it might have once had, but instead Newt felt… well, Newt wasn’t really certain what he felt at the moment, but it wasn’t repugnance. It was more like… reconsideration of everything that he had taken for granted regarding Mr. Gottlieb’s character up until this point. 

Gottlieb… _loved_ him? The word sounds sounded so foreign as they were said in combination. After all that they had gone through, their bickering that, at moments, had threatened to escalate to true fights, all of the angry glares that Gottlieb had thrown at him throughout their entire acquaintance. _Gottlieb?_ Loved _him?_

Oh, _fuck._ Had he even been truly glowering at him, or had Newt just mistaken his longing stares for dirty looks?

Newt’s mind raced through every encounter he had ever had with the man: the consistent stares in his direction that he noticed at the ball, how he’d looked in horror at Miss Ainsworth when she’d invited him to Bolton, the pale expression on his face when’d he’d seen Newt at Wincaster, his thin fingers entangling with his in the planetarium...

" _Shit,"_ said Newt aloud, not caring who heard, as he stood there, rereading line after line of Hermann’s elegant scrawl under the glow of the streetlamp, until he finally decided that he must retire back to his room, though the long night was filled with little sleep.


	15. The Master of Summerworth

Hansen had wanted to get an early start that next morning, which was fine with Newt, as he’d hardly slept more than an hour the night before and had been lying awake since long before sunrise. He’d been lost in contemplation for the majority of the journey to Summerworth, and was only startled from his thoughts when the carriage came to a sharp halt, jolting him and the Hansens from their seats. Chuck was careful to maintain his hold on Max, who only reacted to the disturbance with a perturbed snore. 

“I’d suspect we’re here, then,” said Hansen, peering out the carriage window. 

Newt followed suit, and was startled at the massive building that stood before him. The house was not quite as regal as the Wincaster estate had been, but it was almost more impressive. As if it had been carved into the countryside, the Summerworth mansion had been built of large, black stone that paralleled the dark wooded hills that framed either side of the facade. Dense clusters of ivy tangled themselves on the sleek walls of the house, and Newt saw that some of the thicker bundles contained bird’s nests of varying ages. 

Creeping through the front of the estate was a natural creek that lazily intermingled between the plentiful berry bushes and wildflowers that adorned the property. A number of different large trees held their ground sporadically over the wild garden, their massive branches bearing various fruits and budding flowers. 

Newt was delighted by what laid before his eyes. Unlike the main Wincaster house, Summerworth did not demand dominance over its surroundings, but instead only served to compliment them. He’d expected Gottlieb’s estate to be more… mechanical, given his intricate work at Wincaster, yet it appeared as if the sole purpose of the home was to rest easily within the natural world around it. He found it to be utterly beautiful, perhaps the most stunning man-made creation he’d ever seen. 

_ This was Gottlieb’s home?  _ he mused, taking it all in. 

Perhaps he could have worked here, after all. 

_ Maybe.  _

* * *

Newt and the Hansens had been met out front by Summerworth’s housekeeper, a stout, kind older woman named Mrs. Parker. At present, she was giving their party a tour of the house, though Newt secretly wished to return back to the majesty that grew outside. He yearned to see what the back of the estate looked like, given that the front had been so pleasing. 

The interior had done little to disappoint, though, as the group passed through the long hall that seemed to stretch from each side of the mansion. Their shoes clicked against the white marble floors, and as Newt looked up, he saw that a fresco mural had been painted on the ceiling, depicting epic scenes from Greek mythology. He saw sirens and cyclops, titans and satyrs intermingling in the grand scene, all painted with such realism that he almost questioned whether or not that the clouds they hung in were real.

They ascended an imposing oak staircase with various branches of stairs until they reached the sculpture gallery. Now, the marble of the floors extended to the walls so that the entire room was a bright alabaster, complimenting the white stone statues that it housed. He saw life-sized lions and enormous carved birds elevated on pedestals, alongside stately busts of the family and full-bodied figures of goddesses. It all looked as though it could come alive at any moment. 

Newt separated from his chattering companions to walk towards a bust that stood in the center of the room. It was, by far, not the largest or most striking piece in the gallery, but his recognition of the face drew him towards it. 

It was Mr. Gottlieb, plain as day; the sculptor must have known him personally, as he perfectly captured the familiar lines of the man’s face, even accurately representing the unmanageable hair towards the crown of his head that Newt had noticed so long ago. The eyes and lips had been carved with skillful likeness, as well as his concave cheeks and stubborn jaw. Yet, his expression was not the sour one that Newt had come so accustomed to; instead, Gottlieb’s face seemed to be at peace, almost pleased, as it stood stoically before him. 

_ Was this the true Gottlieb, then?  _ Not the arrogant prick he’d met at the assembly halls, but the one that was so eloquent yet so awful with his words and terrible at understanding his own feelings, the one that sought to protect his loved ones from harm’s way, and didn’t care what others thought of his methods? Who wrote his true feelings in letters, who could be soft, vulnerable, to a man who he knew openly disliked him? 

Or at least, thought disliked him. 

_ Right. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,  _ thought Newt carefully to himself. 

Mrs. Parker must have noticed Newt staring at the bust, as she made her way over to his side.

“That would be our Mr. Gottlieb, sir,” said the housekeeper, looking up at the sculpture with a smile. “I find that the sculptor captured his kind eyes perfectly.”

“The likeness is remarkable,” said Newt, to which Chuck and Hansen both agreed. 

Mrs. Parker lingered at the statue for a moment, nodding thoughtfully, before she turned to look at the bust beside it.

This one was nearly twice the size of Gottlieb’s, and from its high pedestal its eyes seemed to glower down at Newton. He’d never felt so threatened by the presence of simply a statue before. The gentleman depicted had a stern, locked jaw and an eternally furrowed brow. His thin lips were pursed, and nose seemingly upturned at whoever peered upon him. 

“And this is his father, the late Mr. Lars Gottlieb,” she explained, though the affection that she had held in her voice for the younger Gottlieb was gone. Instead, her voice was nearly  _ too  _ unaffected, Newt thought. 

“When did he pass, then?” asked Newt, before he considered the appropriateness of his question. 

Mrs. Parker didn’t seem to mind answering. “Five years ago this autumn, sir,” she replied, turning to look away from the menacing sculpture and back at Newt. 

_ Strange,  _ he thought as he remembered the letter he’d read the night before. That must have meant that Yancy Becket and Mr. Lars Gottlieb had passed in the same year. It felt odd that he had left that out, particularly since it meant that Gottlieb and Raleigh Becket must have inherited their estates at the same time.

“I imagine that must have been very hard on the Gottlieb children,” pressed Newt, watching her expression. 

Mrs. Parker’s face changed little. “Yes, sir, I suppose so,” she said, before pausing for a moment. “Though they took the loss of their mother much harder.”

Newt let the conversation rest, having gained all of the information he needed to confirm his suspicions. 

The party continued on their tour, wandering through the rooms of the house that had been left open for the public. Newt didn’t feel as suffocated as he had at Wincaster; though the Kaidonovsky’s estate had been prodigious in all ways, it had felt more like a labyrinth to Newt than a home. Summerworth, in contrast, was warm and inviting, its windows left open and undrawn, fresh local flowers in magnificent vases in every room. Books were left on tables all over the place, page-markers peeking from their covers, and Newt wondered how many of them were Gottlieb’s, suspecting more than a few.

Finally, the time came for the tour of the exterior of the house, and Newt was even more grateful than he had been earlier that Hansen had wanted to leave for Summerworth right away in the morning, as they still had plenty of sunlight left to tour the grounds. From every direction, he saw new varieties of flora that he’d only ever seen in books and populus species of pollinators that busily attended to the magnificent garden. From the bubbling creek came calls from toads and wild ducks, and in the trees perched birds of all colours, carefully eyeing the insects that fluttered below them. 

As Newt trailed behind Mrs. Parker on the winding stone paths that traversed the estate, he quickly saw an enormous glass greenhouse emerging from behind the house.

“What’s in that?” he asked, pointing at the structure, though Mrs. Parker responded without having to see what he was gesturing towards. 

“That is Mr. Gottlieb’s personal project, sir,” she explained. “I’ll tell you more when we’re inside.” 

Newt resisted the urge to run at the building at a full sprint just to see what was inside, but eventually the four of them reached it. Through the warped glass, he could see the figures of exotic palm trees and the vibrant hues of tropical flowers, but little else. 

Mrs. Parker opened the door to the greenhouse and, to Newt’s surprise, led them into a small glass room inside. “Is the door shut behind you, gentlemen?” she asked once they were all in, and Chuck tugged on its handle to make sure it was, and nodded. 

“Good. That’s Mr. Gottlieb’s one rule: we mustn’t let any of them out.” 

Newt opened his mouth to ask what the  _ hell  _ she meant when suddenly she opened the second door, this one finally leading into the greenhouse itself. Around him grew opulent tropical plants that he’d never seen in the flesh before, ranging from colossal ferns that were practically prehistoric in size and slender palms, ripe with dates, to the fine orchids and anthurium blossoms that peeked out from underneath. He glimpsed monstera leaves that spanned nearly a foot in length and Birds of Paradise that sported brilliant orange and blue petals, but what truly caught his eye were not the plants at all, and instead what filled the air around them.

Thousands of butterflies surrounded him. Some were busy fluttering, others drinking nectar, and still some simply resting on plumerias and calla lilies. While he recognized some local species, most were entirely foreign to him. Some had enormous, iridescent wings that caught the light with ease, while others looked like the faces of owls and other birds of prey. Still, others blended in easily to the bark of the palms, only revealing themselves when they took to the air again, and others were vibrant, bright greens and pinks, and Newt found himself enraptured with the tiny, flying masterpieces, in every size, colour, and hue, living harmoniously amongst one other in their untarnished Eden. 

“He’s got nearly a thousand different sorts of butterflies in here, from across the globe, safe from all weather and predators,” explained Mrs. Parker. He got the feeling that Gottlieb had given her the whole speech on the place more than a few times. 

He pictured the gentleman spending his days in here, sitting on the small wooden bench that sat in the middle of the room, reading through his thick book as thousands of tiny creatures mingled around him, grateful for the care and attention he brought them. 

Newt noticed that a tranquil waterfall and pond sat in the corner of the building, obviously artificially made but nonetheless adding to the serenity of the space. Butterflies slept on the lily pads that scattered its surface, unbothered by the gentle ebb and flow of the manmade current. 

“Incredible,” said Newt in awe. “And this was all Mr. Gottlieb, you say?”

Mrs. Parker nodded. “Yes, sir. As soon as he inherited the estate at twenty-three, he began working on it. I suspect he’d had the plans for it drawn up years in advance. It was quick to construct, though acquiring all the different sorts you see here took great work.”

“Fascinating man, that Gottlieb,” piped up Hansen, who bent down to get a better look at some of the resting specimens. 

Newt felt a delicate set of legs land on his right hand. Looking down to see who his visitor was, he saw that it was a little fellow, the color of dust, who seemed rather plain in comparison to his housemates, but Newt thought that he was rather sweet-looking, and brought his hand up slowly towards his face so that he could have a better look, though his friend flew off before he could do so. 

“Mr. Gottlieb has taken great care of this estate since he took over,” continued Mrs. Parker, though Newt suspected that he’d missed half of what she’d said. “Even going insofar as to completely rebuild the grounds surrounding the house. He dug out a great many ugly statues and garden columns, replacing the lawn with what you see now. His father would have had a heart attack at the sight,” she said, surprising Newt with how plainly she spoke, “but I suppose that’s of little concern now.”

“You mean to say that this was all Gottlieb?” said Newt in disbelief. “I mean, not just the greenhouse. The entire landscape was his doing, in just the past five years?”

Mrs. Parker nodded. “Indeed, sir. I admit I was rather skeptical myself at first, but his work has paid off, don’t you think, Mr. Geiszler?”

“I rather like it myself,” said Newt, though it was the understatement of the century. 

They lingered within the greenhouse and the butterflies for a while longer, though eventually they had to return to the house. They’d only just rounded the corner to the front entrance when Mrs. Parker asked if they were staying for dinner. 

“In an empty house?” asked Chuck in one of his rare speaking moments. 

Mrs. Parker cocked her head, as if she didn’t understand. “I assumed you gentlemen realized that Mr. Gottlieb and his party were on their way to the estate this evening?” 

Now Hansen was confused. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Parker, but my company and I were under the belief that Mr. Gottlieb would not be home during our visit.” 

Mrs. Parker shook her head adamantly. “No, sir. Indeed they’ll be arriving in just a few short hours, I believe, though, now that I come to think of it, these plans were rather recent and just made in the past week. Though, yours were also recent as well, so I presumed that they were connected.” 

“No, ma’am,” said Hansen, shrugging and looking towards Newt and Chuck, who offered no answers themselves. “I won’t presume an invitation when there have been none, but do feel free to let Mr. Gottlieb know of our visit today and mention that we’ll be staying at the nearby inn, if he would like to see us. We should be in Taernsby for the next week or so.” 

“Certainly, sir,” said Mrs. Parker, tapping her head as if to mime that she had catalogued the information. 

_ Feel free to forget it,  _ thought Newt uneasily as he looked at the vines that crept onto their pathway.


	16. Four Hands

The note had come early the next morning, slid under their door by the innkeeper. Newt had found it first, stepping on it with bare feet as he’d stumbled out of his flimsy cot. Picking it up, he’d quickly recognized the emblem on the red wax seal to be Gottlieb’s, though his hand seemed less shaky as he wrote _For the Hansen Party_ on the front in his newly-familiar scrawl. 

Newt hadn’t had a moment to even decide whether or not to hide it before Chuck saw it over his shoulder and plucked it from his fingers, quickly tearing it open and reading it aloud. Newt read it from over his shoulders, his eyes moving faster than Chuck’s lips.

_July the twenty-fifth, 1813._

_Dear Mr. and Mr. Hansen and Mr. Geiszler,_

_I am sorry to have not arrived in time for your visit to Summerworth yesterday, though I hope that dear Mrs. Parker was an adequate replacement._

_To be short, I would like to invite your party to dine with us at Summerworth this evening, at six o’clock. If you cannot make it, I perfectly understand, but I do hope to see you all again soon, as our visit in Bishop’s Grove was cut so short._

_Sincerely,_

_H. Gottlieb_

“What a pleasant man,” said Hansen as Chuck finished reading the letter. “Of course we’ll attend; I’ll write back to him right away and send it over at breakfast.” He smiled at Newt. “I’m sure you’ll have a lot to ask him about the greenhouse.”

Newt forced a smile on his face and nodded. “Amongst other things, certainly.”

* * *

The day passed with unwelcome quickness, Newt unable to concentrate on any of the local churches and ancient cemeteries that they’d visited over the past few hours. 

Instead, his thoughts were condemned to endless cycles of Gottlieb, of Summerworth, of handwritten letters, of ever-moving stars, of marble statues with incredible likeness, of cacophonies of marvelous butterflies, of _You see, I love yous_ and _deep and unwavering devotions._ Rather than start to make sense over time, it seemed as though every reflection only brought more and more confusion into Newt’s mind. 

He’d been prepared to see Summerworth yesterday, but seeing _Gottlieb_ was entirely a different matter. 

Did he want to see Gottlieb tonight? Did he not? Why had the other man returned, when he had apparently made it clear to Hansen that he was to be gone? Had it been intentional, or an accident, or had he not expected them to come at all? Did _he_ want to see Newt? Had he been distressed to hear that he was still a member of their party, or had he been glad? 

Newt’s mind was overwhelmed with all these questions and so many more, and as the clock clicked nearer to six o’clock his anxiety only worsened. He considered feigning a headache once more, but he worried that Hansen and Chuck would ask Gottlieb to reschedule for another night and Newt would only be forced to suffer with his discomfiture longer. 

So, he didn’t, and instead found himself tapping his foot nervously against the carriage floor as they traversed across the wooded hills of Taernsby towards Summerworth. Chuck gently kicked at his foot to get him to stop and Newt obliged, closing his eyes and trying to relax before he was at Summerworth once more. Needless to say, he had little success. 

“Are you feeling well, Newton?” asked Hansen from across the carriage. Newt opened his eyes once more to see Hansen looking at him with a vaguely concerned expression. 

_This could be my last chance,_ he thought, debating whether or not to feign illness. Given all of the torment that boiled within him, he was relatively certain that he could vomit on command to make a convincing case, but eventually decided against it. 

“Certainly, just a bit of road sickness,” said Newt, smiling with closed lips at the other man. “I’m sure it’ll pass when I’m on firm ground again.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” said Hansen, nodding. “The good news is, we’re almost there.”

Newt remembered that good news was subjective, and closed his eyes once more. 

* * *

This time, when their carriage arrived at Summerworth, they were greeted by not solely Mrs. Parker but instead by a proper welcoming committee, full of freshly-starched maid’s uniforms and pressed butler’s suits, and in the middle, a handful of intricately beaded gowns and elegant tailcoats and tophats. As they got closer, Newt recognized the majority of the upper-class guests; it seemed as though Mr. Becket were there, and Miss Ainsworth, and, of course, in the center was Mr. Gottlieb himself, adorned in a navy coat so dark that Newt almost thought it black at first, with his familiar wooden cane.

The sun had not quite hidden for the night but was threatening to do so, so that the entire estate and party were bathed in a warm glow from the fading light. As the horses stopped their trot and the wheels their turn, Newt watched the party from the carriage window; they almost looked like something out of a painting, as if they deserved to be painted on the Summerworth ceiling alongside the gods and titans. 

Soon, their butler opened their carriage door and Hansen, then Chuck and Max, then Newt descended the small wooden stairs and finally stood before the crescent of servants and hosts. 

Hardly a second had passed before Hansen was shaking Gottlieb’s hand heartily and smiling ear-to-ear. “Thank you for your invitation this evening,” he said, politely, and then, more earnestly, “We greatly enjoyed Mrs. Parker’s tour of the grounds and house yesterday. You’ve clearly created a masterpiece here.” 

_Was that a blush on Gottlieb just then?_ Newt wondered as he saw the other man’s cheeks briefly turn a shade darker. It was almost… endearing. He shook the thought out of his head.

“I am pleased to hear you say so,” said Gottlieb, smiling warmly and shaking his hand. “It’s good to see you again, even though it’s only been a matter of a week.” Then, he turned towards the rest of their party. “Charles, Newton,” he said, nodding at each of them. 

When he nodded towards Newt, his warm smile changed into something else; not cold, Newt thought, but rather… melancholic, perhaps, almost wistful. Newt offered a small smile in return, though Gottlieb’s eyes seemed to pass over him too quickly for him to have seen it.

Gottlieb turned towards his own guests, introducing them to the Hansen men. As Hansen enthusiastically greeted Mr. Becket and Miss Ainsworth, Newt remembered that his companions hadn’t the faintest idea what had gone on between the members of Gottlieb’s party and the Pentecost household. Oh, how blissful that must be.

When Gottlieb finally introduced the fourth and final member of his party, a short brunette woman with a round, pretty face that Newt hadn’t recognized, she revealed herself to be Miss Karla Gottlieb. 

_Well, then._ He could finally put a face to that name. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, finally,” she said to Newt as they all went down the line greeting one another. Her large brown eyes brightened as she spoke. “I’ve heard much about you.” 

“That is usually not a good sign,” said Newt, rather honestly, as he politely kissed the top of the hand that she extended towards him. _Particularly if it came from your brother._

“Very, very bad indeed,” she laughed, and Newt grinned despite himself. Her demeanour was nothing short of delightful, he realized with some surprise. He’d been picturing a younger, female version of Gottlieb: stiff, awkward, unfriendly. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised to find that she was altogether charming. For a moment, he almost forgot that he was supposed to be dreading this evening. 

Becket greeted Newt with a rather forceful pat on the back, while Miss Ainsworth had just wiggled her fingers in a half-hearted wave at him as she took a drink from the glass of wine that she’d brought outside with her, looking predictably and effortlessly gorgeous doing it. 

Rather than gather in the sitting room as most were wont to do before a formal dinner, Gottlieb had them gather on the large balcony at the back of the house that looked over the undomesticated gardens and the butterfly house. A cart had been wheeled outside, full of various liquors and wines, and a servant stood behind it, pouring out drinks for their large party. Karla had eagerly accepted the duty of making sure everyone was served and had thrust a glass of red wine on Newt, who accepted it readily though he silently questioned her intentions with her dedicated work. 

Now, he leaned over the large stone railing that separated him from falling a story down, watching the intricate patterns of the bees that buzzed below as they danced between blossoms. They seemed so content to do their work, and Newt doubted that they had ever had to deal with the difficulty of dining with a man who had proposed but not proposed to you that you weren’t certain if you adamantly hated or secretly liked, and also five people who had no idea of what was going on between you two. He hoped they didn’t, at least, for the bee’s sake.

He was in the middle of taking a generous sip of his wine when Becket appeared at his side at the railing. 

“Oh, hello,” said Newt upon noticing him. 

“Hello, Mr. Geiszler,” said Becket, nodding but going quiet soon after, and Newt wondered if there was something he was struggling to say, having a good guess as to what it might be. 

“Miss Mori has been doing well,” said Newt, trying to make it sound as off-handed as he could as he brought his wine to his lips once more. 

Becket’s face immediately changed from its polite expression to a sincere smile as he looked over the edge of the railing. “I’m overjoyed to hear so,” he said, and Newt knew that he meant it. 

“She and I were just discussing only a short while ago the question of whether or not you were to ever return to Sladehall End, truth be told,” Newt lied. He didn’t care. It was for the greater good, he could feel it. 

“Really?” said Becket, and now his entire face had lit up, though he worked quickly to return to a more casual state. “I mean, I don’t know if we’d intended to, at least not soon, but - I mean, I suppose we could if - well, I mean. Do you think - I mean, do you suppose, then, that Miss Mori would like that?” 

Newt nodded. “Rest assured, I can promise you that she would,” said Newt, and he could see the outline of Becket’s throat as he gulped, fingers fiddling with the buttons of his jacket unconsciously.

“That’s nice to hear,” said Becket, almost breathlessly, and Newt wasn’t entirely sure whether or not the other man had known that he’d said it aloud. Becket paused, looking off into the landscape for a moment with an unfeigned smile lingering on his lips, before remembering where he was and turning to look at Newt once again. 

“Thank you, for telling me this, I mean,” said Becket, and Newt could tell that he was heartfelt as he said it. 

“Anytime,” said Newt, going to take another sip of his wine but finding his glass empty.

“I’m going to get something more to drink. Might I get you anything?”

Becket shook his head from his position leaning against the stone railing. “I’m perfectly fine, thanks,” he said, the absent look in his eyes telling Newt that he was back to daydreaming and would likely not be reachable from the mortal world for some time. 

He left Becket to his thoughts as he wandered back over to the beverage cart, where Miss Ainsworth and Karla lingered. Before Newt could get himself a drink, Karla demanded that the bartending servant ignore whatever it was that he was about to order and to pour him another glass of the champagne that she and Miss Ainswroth both drank at present. Newt didn’t fight it and gladly accepted the flute as he was presented with it. 

Karla pulled him by the arm into her and Miss Ainsworth’s conversation, though instead of letting him go as he joined she instead adjusted their arms so that their elbows were hooked. Newt’s mind immediately drifted to physical memories of Mako doing the same thing as they promenaded across Sladehall End, summer after summer, getting up to utter nonsense between their studies and letting the sun freckle their cheeks.

Karla wiggled her arm that was locked in his, bringing him out of his memory and back to the present. “So, Mr. Geiszler -” she started, but Newt stopped her. 

“Please, really, call me Newton,” he said, unable to hear another person refer to him so formally in a name that hardly sounded like his own. Regardless, there was no point in further pretending to be a proper gentleman when nearly every member of the party knew otherwise.

She only smiled wider at him, tightening her lock on his arm. “Oh, _wonderful._ You’re going to fit in just fine, Newton,” she beamed, though Newt wasn’t entirely sure of what she meant, though it didn’t sound bad, at least, so he accepted it. 

“Might I ask why we weren’t able to enjoy your presence alongside your brother’s at Sladehall End, then?” asked Newt, taking a sip from his sparkling drink. 

“Business in London called,” explained Karla nonchalantly, swirling the bubbly liquid in her glass absentmindedly. “I had intentions to join the party in June until you all departed early,” she continued, raising an eyebrow at Miss Ainsworth slightly. The other woman only took a drink from her flute, staying silent. 

“Right,” said Newt, remembering the haste departure more vividly than he’d like. 

“Rather a shame,” said Karla, looking back towards Newt. “I heard that the scenery was rather pleasant, and the people as well.” 

“Rather indeed,” said Newt, careful to not reveal too much of his true regard for the whole ordeal.

She kept talking, paying no attention to the subtle tension. “So, _Newton,_ I hear that you are a friend of my dear brother’s.”

Newt hesitated involuntarily, which Karla immediately picked up on. “Or do you share another sort of relationship?” she asked innocently, tilting her head ever so slightly to the side. Newt noticed from the corner of his eye that Miss Ainsworth now wore a subtle smile across her red lips as she raised her glass to them.

“I would rather say our relationship has been entirely founded on us running into each other when we least intend to,” said Newt, quickly, before Karla got any ideas. 

“I understand perfectly,” she said, nodding very seriously before taking a long sip from her champagne. She smiled as she drank, crinkling the corners of her eyes as she did so. 

_Hm._

He might have to keep an eye on this one.

* * *

They were eventually called in for dinner, served in the home’s stately dining room. Newt found himself between Chuck and Becket, and though he didn’t mind his neighbors, there was a small part of him that wished to be sat closer to Gottlieb. They hadn’t had a moment to speak all evening which frustrated Newt to no end, despite the fact that he still had no idea what the _hell_ to say to him. 

The two parties got on marvelously as they went through their courses, with Karla and Hansen often leading the table in roars of laughter, Becket charming them all without trying, per usual, and the rest of them doing their part to keep up the chatter. While neither Gottlieb nor Newton were silent, their conversations rarely overlapped. 

On occasion, Newt caught Gottlieb looking over at him from across the table, though when he could catch a glimpse of it long enough to study, his face revealed little about how he was feeling. There was no warm smile in his direction, yet no glower either, so Newt had entirely no idea what to think, still, and it _nagged_ at him _incessantly._

So he’d sat there, bursting inside with his frustrations of not knowing, for the entirety of dinner, watching Chuck slip scraps of mackerel under the table to Max and listening to Karla, Gottlieb, and Becket recount stories from their childhood, though noticing the silent lulls that occurred when it was clear that a fourth member had been left out of the retelling. Yet, Gottlieb and Karla were always quick to pick the conversation back up, and even Miss Ainsworth put in her efforts at times, changing the subject to the latest on nearby horse races or current political events when the pauses became too long. Hansen simply enjoyed the meal, oblivious to the various webs that existed between the various diners around him. 

Finally, the dinner was over and they all shuffled back out to the balcony where they had joined prior, though now the sun had gone down and darkness reigned outdoors. Fortunately, during their absence, a servant must have snuck out and distributed candles across the entirety of the stone railing and on all the exterior tables, for now a warm glow enveloped the entirety of the terrace. Paired with the bright stars above them and the still-visible beauty of the surrounding garden, the entire scene, Newt dared to say, was rather romantic. 

Glass tumblers of whiskey were distributed throughout the party of seven and everyone found their spots to linger and chat. Newt considered his options as he looked around the terrace: Becket and the Hansens had gathered at a wrought-iron table while the ladies lounged off to the side, and Gottlieb stood a good distance from the rest of them, off by the railing, looking out in the direction of the darkened greenhouse. Newt knew he would be equally welcome in either the men’s or the women’s circles, but before he’d made up his mind, he found his feet walking towards Gottlieb in his private corner and himself unable to stop them. 

Soon, he stood beside the other man at the railing, both facing the garden, and suddenly all of the voices and clinking glasses behind him disappeared entirely and it was just them, in the darkness with only the glow of the candles and the stars offering any salvation. 

Before Newt could say anything, Gottlieb spoke. 

“Hello, Mr. Geiszler,” he said, softly, though he did not turn his head to face his guest. 

“It’s good to see you, Mr. Gottlieb,” said Newt, quietly, and he was surprised to realize that he perhaps meant it.

“Really?” said Gottlieb with a small laugh, as if he hadn’t expected to hear those words come from his mouth.

“It is,” said Newt quickly, though he hadn’t meant to sound so defensive. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. “Really, though. Good. I mean, to see you.” 

A small exhale left Gottlieb’s lips, as if he’d been holding his breath. “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it, I mean.”

“You’ve… been well, I trust?”

“Since last week?”

“Um… I suppose, yeah?” Oh, he was _not_ good at this.

“Well, yes,” said Gottlieb. 

“And the family?”

Now Gottlieb was _really_ looking at him like he’d lost his mind. “You’ve just met my sister, and I would think it’s safe to say she’s doing fine.”

Okay, _fuck._ Not going great. He knew he needed to shift course from _polite greetings_ to _non-mindnumbing conversation,_ but wasn’t quite sure how to get there.

Clearly, Gottlieb was growing just as uncomfortable with their current projected territory of endless pleasantries, and interrupted. “Did you find the estate to be to your liking yesterday, with Mrs. Parker?”

“Oh, _absolutely,”_ said Newt, desperately wondering why he hadn’t thought to mention it sooner. “Really, you’ve got a fantastic set-up out here. Like, who would’ve known? In the middle of _Taernsby?_ And your greenhouse? Just. _Wow._ I mean it, really great stuff you’ve got going on out here.” 

Gottlieb seemed to warm up at this mention, finally turning to look at him. Newt quickly did the same, coming face-to-face with the other man’s dark brown eyes and thin, pink lips. It was a face that had grown so strangely familiar in the last few months, yet still one that he was learning. 

“Thank you,” said the other man, and Newt could tell that he meant it sincerely.

“And you’ve done all of this out here by yourself? Really?” said Newt, remembering what Mrs. Parker had told him. 

“Really,” laughed Gottlieb. “I suppose I thought she deserved it. To be returned back to her more natural state, I mean. It was really dreadful here before. Father was obsessed with Versailles.” With this, Newt saw Gottlieb scowl, which made himself have to hide back a laugh. “All those acres of gardens, entirely lifeless, really. Not a single bush was allowed to grow organically as it should, and most of it has been wasted with dull grass lawns.”

“Sounds awful.”

“Because it was,” said Gottlieb, becoming newly animated as he continued. “I swore that once I took over Summerworth that I would let her grounds breathe as much as they liked, and so far I’ve found it to suit both her and me. Sometimes the stable boys have to come out and help me cut back a vine or branch that’s threatening the rest of the garden but other than that, it’s rather self-sufficient here. She tends to take good care of herself.”

Newt was silent as Gottlieb rambled on passionately. He hadn’t seen this side of him before, the side that believed that nature was alive as much as Newt did, that cared about it and wanted to nurture it, cherish it, and even moreso, respect it. Though the light was dim, he could see that Gottlieb’s eyes twinkled with pride as he spoke of the Summerworth grounds and how he’d transformed them, given them new life. 

“I think that’s beautiful,” said Newt, once Gottlieb had finished speaking. “All of it.”

Gottlieb almost seemed surprised at the response, the corner of his mouth twitching into a reserved smile. “Really? Most think it’s a bit ridiculous.”

Newt shook his head adamantly. “Not at all. I wish more would follow your lead.” 

Now, Gottlieb’s lips turned into a true smile. “I’m glad to hear you say so.”

“So, just so I’ve got this straight,” Newt pressed, definitely _not_ thinking about how Gottlieb had a nice smile, really. “You’re not on the side of the English in this either, then?”

“What?” said Gottlieb, blinking at Newt as if he’d entirely just lost him. _The way his lips curve ever so slightly more on the right… rather charming, really…_

“The gardens, I mean. Clearly you’re not on the side of the French, if you detest Versailles as you do, and Mrs. Parker told me you ripped out a bunch of marbles from the yard, so clearly you’re not going for the English garden look, either.” 

“Oh! Right, no, absolutely not. I’m just,” he bit his lip as he paused in thought, “into gardens being gardens, really. And the marble really clashed with the dark slate of the exterior.” His expression towards Newt became one of absolute seriousness. “It really did look awful. I believe the word Karla used was ‘gaudy.’” 

“It seems as though you’ve performed a very considerate service for the rest of us then,” said Newt, mimicking his companion’s gravity.

“I’ve never called myself a martyr, but perhaps in this case…” 

They both cracked a small smile now, though only just a hint, so that their private exchange under the moon ought only be known to them. 

“Down with the English, and down the French, then,” said Newt. 

“You’re rather correct. Down with it all, and only anarchy in the gardens.” 

“You know, I hadn’t really expected such a political opinion from you.” 

“And what sort of a political man had you written me off as, then?” said Gottlieb, with growing boldness in his voice. 

Newt’s own smile only grew more coy as his gaze played with the other man’s, their eyes so clearly seeking to understand the other’s. “I suppose you’d think me rather rude if I told you the truth.” 

“If it weren’t rude, I’d be not only shocked, but concerned.” 

“Now, is that a high opinion of me, or a low one?” 

“It’s an observation.”

Newt opened his mouth to respond when suddenly the reality of the crowd behind him came back to the forefront as Hansen’s voice called out. 

“Mr. Geiszler, I daresay it’s almost half past ten and we ought to get out of these fine people’s hair. Mr. Becket has invited us to go shooting at the neighboring estate tomorrow so we’d best get a good night’s sleep.”

Newt’s eyes still lingered on Gottlieb’s face, and he saw the other man’s smile falter, going from playful to resigned in an instant. Neither spoke for a moment, until Hansen called out after Newt again. 

“I’m coming,” called back Newt over his shoulder, unable to bring himself to leave just yet. 

“Will you be attending the shooting, then?” he asked Gottlieb quickly. 

Gottlieb shook his head. “No. Hunting has never suited me.”

“Neither me.” 

“Perhaps you’d like to stay behind tomorrow, then, and spend the day with Karla and I,” suggested Gottlieb after a moment’s pause. “She’s never had the stomach for it neither.”

Newt felt himself fighting back a grin, despite himself. “I’d rather like that.” 

“Perfect. I’ll see you in the morning then.” 

_Perfect._

Hansen called out for the third time before Newt could reply. “You’d better get going,” said Gottlieb, albeit a tad regrettably. 

“Right. I’ll be seeing you then,” said Newt, and when it looked like Gottlieb wasn’t going to respond, he finally turned to face the rest of his party who waited for him expectantly at the door. 

* * *

Newt and the Hansens had returned to Summerworth early the next morning so that the latter might get an early start in their hunt. As soon as their carriage had arrived, Hansen, Chuck, Becket, and Miss Ainsworth had headed out towards the neighboring estate, which allegedly boasted a healthy population of pheasants and duck, and Newt had wandered inside, with the assistance of one of the Summerworth footmen, towards the library, an area that had not been covered on Miss Parker’s tour.

As he’d entered the unfamiliar room, he quickly saw Karla sitting at a piano playing some quick-tempoed dance piece and Gottlieb nearby on a red cushioned chair, half-listening, half-reading the dense book that sat in his lap. They both turned to look at him as he walked in, Gottlieb offering a subtle smile while Karla grinned ear-to-ear and stopped playing. 

“Newton! How lovely of you to join us,” she beamed, getting up from the piano bench to meet him. She wore a high-waisted cream-colored dress, trimmed with lace and tied with a pale green ribbon; it glided across the floor as she walked, almost angelically. “I’m so pleased to hear that you’re so willing to pass up their ridiculous sport. It drives me mad to see Vanessa go with them.” With this, she rolled her eyes. 

Newt laughed. “It was an easy decision,” he promised. He turned to look at Gottlieb, but he ignored them, instead looking back towards his book. Karla seemed to notice, and shook her head. 

“Don’t mind him. He’s useless before noon when he’s at home; it would take a great tragedy or incredible event of weather to rip him from his books before then.”

Newt found his heart fluttering at the simple piece of information that had just been disclosed; it felt strange to know something so intimate about the other man, something so particular to him that was so removed from his stiff public persona. 

“Anyhow,” continued Karla, taking Newt’s attention away from the other man, “my brother has told me that you’re quite good at the piano.” 

Newt cocked an eyebrow. “That is a very bold statement from a man who has never heard me play.” Gottlieb distinctly looked down at his book. 

“Perhaps your talent can suffice on reputation alone,” she laughed, taking him by the arm and leading him to the piano. “I’m sure I have some duets in here somewhere.” With this, she turned and opened the lid of the piano bench, rummaging through the various pages of sheet music that had been thrown in there. Finally, she found something that would do and closed the bench, spreading the music out on the shelf above the keys. It was a sonata for four hands by the younger Mozart, the music staffs dense with complicated black notes with few rests. 

“I really must warn you, your brother has greatly exaggerated my talents -” started Newt, but Karla brushed him off. 

“Really, dear. We’re playing for a near-empty library, not the Royal Family, and regardless, I’ll give you the bottom half. It’s very simple once you get going.” 

Newt grimaced, but took his seat next to her and cracked his fingers before laying them on the keys. 

“And remember,” she said, positioning her own fingers. “It’s in B flat major, so watch your sharps.” With that, she took a deep breath and cued Newt to begin. 

Though the piece called for an allegro tempo to begin, Karla took it slow to start, which Newt presumed to be much less for her and more of a generous deed towards him. He was grateful, though it only took a few lines for him to get the feel of the piece, and then they quickened their tempo, ignoring Newt’s occasional wrong notes and missed entrances. She never scolded or laughed at him, but instead just continued, looking over to smile at Newt when they hit the slower passages. 

They played through the three movements seamlessly and finally they came to the last line on the last page, ending with triumph, and then they were laughing and grinning at one another at a job well done. 

“Your definition of ‘simple’ could use some work,” said Newt, almost out of breath after putting in such concentration at the keys. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that the sun had moved significantly across the room since they’d begun their duet; they must’ve been at it for almost half an hour, he guessed. As he glimpsed across the room, he saw that Gottlieb had lifted his eyes from his book to watch them, a faint smile across his lips. When he noticed Newt looking at him, he immediately stopped, shifting his gaze back towards the text in his lap. 

“Perhaps,” chuckled Karla, oblivious. “But you handled yourself so well. It’s lovely to have someone to play with again.” With that, her smile faltered for a moment as she went into her thoughts. Newt wondered who she was implying, whether it was Yancy or their mother, or perhaps even their father. 

She quickly gathered herself once more, returning her pleased expression to her face. “Anyhow, I’m rather tired of sitting here for so long. Might we take a turn about the room, like the London ladies do?”

Newt laughed, nodding. They both stood and linked arms and began slowly circling the room. 

“So,” began Karla once they’d found their pace. “It seems so strange that you might know so much about me and yet I know so little about you.” 

“I wouldn’t say that I know a great deal about you,” said Newt, honestly.

Karla looked offended. “You mean to say that my brother hasn’t spent his entire acquaintance with you recalling my fine attributes and many successes?” 

Newt shook his head. “I’m afraid to say that he has not; in fact, I didn’t know of your existence until we’d already be somewhat familiar with one another for three months.”

Karla scoffed and turned to look at her brother, who wasn’t paying attention to them. “Hermann! You and I must speak later.” 

Gottlieb looked up from his book, his brow furrowing as if to ask what on earth she was talking about. Karla simply waved him away, and Gottlieb chuckled gently, looking back down at his pages. 

“Well, then. What _do_ you know about me, Newton?” she said, returning to their conversation. 

“Well, I know you play the piano, and well enough for Lady Sasha Kaidonovsky to know of your talents,” started Newt, though Karla shook her head. 

“Of _course_ you know that,” she said, rolling her eyes as they turned past the fireplace. “That’s a silly one. I want to know what you know that I haven’t just shown you in this very room.”

“Well,” started Newt, not sure what he should reveal. Obviously he knew that her parents and one of her closest childhood friends had passed, but he hesitated to turn the conversation so dark so quickly. “All I really know, outside of that, is that you live here with your brother.”

She laughed. “As if that is any less obvious. Really, Newton. You mean my brother has told you that little?”

“I fear that I must say yes.” 

“How terrible. Well, then. What would you like to know?”

Newt wasn’t quite sure how to answer that question. “Well, I suppose I could ask what your intentions for the future are. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to ask young ladies?”

Karla’s expression warmed at that. “Oh, do keep calling me young, dear. That is every twenty-four-year-old’s favorite word. To answer your question, I suppose my answer would be to stay here, with my brother and our friends, until I grow old and pass away happily, in my sleep, preferably drunk on sweet wine and in silk sheets.”

“Don’t you wish to marry someday?” asked Newt, somewhat surprised by her answer. 

Karla chuckled, also unexpected to Newt. “And leave my home? How terrible a thought. And regardless, I am confident that there will never be a man that I’ll desire to marry, so there is simply no worry in that regard.”

“Surely you might meet someone,” said Newt, “that you might like better than Summerworth.”

“Certainly I will, and perhaps I have,” agreed Karla, though Newt could tell that she chose her words carefully. “Though I can certainly assure you there will never be a man.”

Newt opened his mouth to speak, before his brain finally kicked in. 

_Oh._

The occasional passing touch of Karla’s fingers on Miss Ainsworth’s wrist and deeply private conversations that he’d observed them in over the past twenty-four-hours made sense now. He’d gotten so used to Miss Ainsworth’s presence that he’d long forgotten that it had never made sense to him why she was with Gottlieb and Becket at all.

Now?

Now it made sense. 

“I understand you perfectly,” said Newt, to which Karla laughed. 

“I thought you might,” said Karla, a comment which Newt was careful to ignore. “Now, you know far more about me than I know about you. So, tell me: who is the infamous Newton Geiszler, really?”

“Infamous?” Newt ribbed, cocking his head. “ _Infamous?_ Really?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she chided, “and answer the question.”

“Well,” started Newt, unsure of what to disclose. “I’m a tutor, in Sladehall End, for a family, and I have been for almost ten years.”

“And did you always dream of being a tutor?” she pressed. 

“Of course not,” Newt chuckled, not fearing honesty. “I dreamed of studying natural history and experimental philosophy at university for most of my boyhood, but it was never a realistic pursuit. I was lucky for the education I had, and to even work in a house such as mine is a far leap from what I’d expected to be doing. I’m grateful that my employer knew my parents and former teachers, or else I might’ve never even been considered for the position.”

Karla hummed as she listened. “I can easily picture you as a boy. I imagine you weren’t too different.”

Newt laughed. “Perhaps I am more discreet now, but yes, I must say I am likely the same.” 

“And where was this wistful childhood spent?”

“Brampfast,” said Newt, “at my parent’s home, until I was eighteen.” 

“Are your parents still alive?” she asked, though more gently than she had asked her previous questions. 

Newt shook his head. It was never his favorite subject, but she’d asked, so he was obliged to answer. “My mother passed when I was young, and then my uncle moved in with my father to help him with his work. My father just passed about four years ago, but my uncle still lives in the family home. We don’t speak much.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” said Karla, placing her free hand on his arm and tenderly squeezing it. 

“Thank you, but you needn’t be. I’ve had a long time to cope with the passing of my mother, and I wasn’t much close to my father.”

Karla nodded, thoughtfully. “You and I are rather similar in that regard, then. I miss my mother dearly but I hardly think of my father.”

“Was he absent, often?” asked Newt, keeping his voice soft so as to not disturb Gottlieb, who didn’t look up at them. 

“He was always here, but not often with us,” said Karla, also quietly. “And when he was, it was rarely pleasant.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Newt, and he was. He thought back to the stern, cold eyes of his marble bust and shivered. He hadn’t seemed particularly paternal, he remembered, instead rather brutal, even tyrannical.

“Thank you,” she said softly, and then they both fell silent, continuing their slow turn about the room. Karla’s hand stayed lying on Newt’s hooked elbow, and he found himself grateful for the tender touch of a potential friend. 

“I wonder how their hunt is going,” said Karla, eventually, a coy smile on her lips. 

“If I have any guess, I would say that Miss Ainsworth would be the best shot of that bunch, with Max at a close second.” 

Karla laughed and squeezed his small bicep, and the two continued to chat about their companions and other gossip. It turned out that she had a great deal of knowledge about the escapades of England’s gentry, to which Newt, ever the rumor-loving servant boy, ate up eagerly. He greatly looked forward to sharing the stories with Tendo, once he got home. 

As they rounded the corner by the piano once, Newt swore he caught Gottlieb glimpsing up at them, though he quickly buried his nose once more. 

Perhaps he could be bothered before noon, then, after all. 

* * *

They had stayed in the library until noon, Newt and Karla intermittently walking and playing the piano while Gottlieb read, when a servant appeared at the door and let them know that their lunch was ready. Karla had particularly delighted at the news, which Newt thought a bit odd, but as the three headed down the corridors, past the dining rooms and towards the front entrance, Newt began to suspect that something was afoot. 

Certainly enough, as they descended the great stone steps of Summerworth, a servant met them with a picnic basket and a folded quilt. Karla eagerly accepted them both, though Newt insisted that he carry at least something. She gave him the quilt, and then directed both him and Gottlieb towards a willow tree that grew by the small creek that cut through the grounds. 

She showed him where to lay down the blanket, atop the soft long grass that grew on the shore bed, and once it was down placed the basket on top of it. All three of them settled down on the quilt as she unveiled its contents. Aside from the sandwiches and wheel of cheese, Newt saw that there was an array of fresh fruit, ranging from strawberries and blackberries to peaches and plums. It all looked shiny and juicy, and Newt’s mouth watered just at the sight. 

Gottlieb seemed to notice him drooling, and chuckled. “They’re all grown here,” he explained, reaching in and grabbing a ripe raspberry. “Either in the garden or in the greenhouse.” 

Newt hungrily plucked a strawberry out of the basket and bit in, feeling the juice flow down his lower lip. He licked it away quickly, though not before seeing Gottlieb’s eyes carefully following the motion. 

“Delicious,” he said with a full mouth. Gottlieb laughed and shook his head, removing a sandwich from the basket and biting in. 

The setting was serene, between the marvelous plants that surrounded them and the sublime babbling of the creek, the happy chirps of the birds and the throaty croaks of the toad. Newt felt entirely bewitched by the scene. 

“Might you show me the greenhouse later?” asked Newt towards Gottlieb, who still chewed on his sandwich. 

Swallowing, Gottlieb answered. “Hasn’t Mrs. Parker already given you the tour?”

Newt nodded, plucking another berry from the basket. “She has, but I feel as though you might be better to answer some of my questions about the different species you keep in there,” he said, before popping it in his mouth. 

Karla spoke before Gottlieb could reply. “Oh, please, if you must, do it tomorrow, when I’m to go into town with Vanessa,” she groaned. “I’ve heard just about all I need to about thoraxes and forewing patterns and migration habits for my lifetime, thank you very much.” 

Gottlieb laughed. “Very well. Would that suit you, Newton?”

Newt smiled. He wouldn’t argue the proposal of having a private moment with Gottlieb, for which he had had few up until this moment. He still hadn’t been able to discuss a word of the letter with him, and it still drove him mad. “It would. I shall plan on it then.”

Gottlieb nodded. “I’ll look forward to it,” he said, a guarded smile beginning to creep across his face. Newt felt his own chest tighten; it was turning out that he was entirely defenseless against a soft Gottlieb. 

Karla, oblivious, or at least feigning to be, to the tensions surrounding her, peeled the crust off her sandwich delicately and placed them in a pile on the blanket. “Shall we feed them to the ducks?” she quipped, gesturing towards the crusts. 

“No,” said Gottlieb pointedly, directing his attention back to his younger sister. “It’s not good for them.”

Karla sighed, standing up from her spot on the blanket and meandering towards the water, though she left her crusts behind. She sat on the edge of the creek so that her feet dangled off. “Oh!” she exclaimed in pleasure. “You have _no_ idea how good that feels. Newton, you must try it.” 

Newt obliged, walking towards her. He took off his shoes and socks, placing them on the soft grass beside them. Before he could sit down, however, suddenly Karla scrambled to her feet, pointing across the water at something in the distance, though Newt couldn’t figure out what she meant for the life of him.

“Look!” she yelped, gesturing vividly towards the mystery. Newt peered closer, leaning across the water. 

“What?” he asked, entirely unable to discern _anything._ Suddenly, he heard Gottlieb shout something indistinguishable from behind him, but before he could turn around, he abruptly felt two hands push against his back, sending him straight into the clear creek below. 

As his body hit the formerly calm water, he felt a great splash surround him, and then he was completely submerged. While he sunk and then bobbed back to the surface, he opened his eyes, seeing the tangled algae and flat stones on the bed, small minnows and tadpoles fleeing from the ruckus he’d caused. Within seconds, his head broke through the water again, and as he blinked the water from his eyes, he saw the figure of Karla standing on the shore, keeled over in laughter, while Gottlieb stood behind her, looking at Newt with equal parts pity and amusement. The ducks that had previously lingered on the peaceful surface of the water had scattered across the surrounding grass, quacking furiously at the sudden disturbance.

“Oh, you’ll pay for that,” laughed Newt, sputtering freshwater from his lips, grateful that his glasses had stayed on amidst the whole ordeal. 

Karla wiped her tears from her eyes with her delicate index finger as she continued to giggle at Newt’s predicament. “I’d like to see you -”

Before she could finish her statement, suddenly she was tumbling down to the water as well, Gottlieb’s arm lingering in the space where she’d been standing. 

As she came back up for air, Newt and Gottlieb roared in laughter. “Oh, you are _rotted,”_ screeched Karla as she pulled a strand of green algae from her now-flat curls, though she still wore a wide grin across her face. 

Gottlieb only winked at her as he took off his shoes and sat down on the side of the creek, letting his bare feet dangle in the water. “I daresay you deserved that one,” he chuckled as he leaned back on his arms and smiled at them. 

Newt couldn’t help but notice how the lighter streaks of Gottlieb’s brown hair shined in the light, and how the lapping water reflected in his copper-coloured eyes. He didn’t even notice as Karla splashed him until he felt a strand of seaweed slap across his face. 

“Oh, you’ve done it now,” growled Newt as he sent a tidal wave in her direction, managing to splash Gottlieb in the process. He almost expected to be scolded, but instead the other man just chuckled and kicked his feet in the water back towards him. 

“I’m on your side, don’t forget,” reminded Gottlieb.

“You’re right, you’re right,” said Newt in a mock-apologetic tone. “I owe you my life.” With this, he bowed in the other man’s direction with grand flourish, to which Gottlieb just rolled his eyes and smiled.

“I say,” interrupted Karla, squeezing the water out of her hair, “we have been _very_ well-behaved up until this point, and I do believe that once we are finished here we all deserve a drink before our companions return. Or many, depending on when they arrive.” 

Newt grinned. There was an offer he would never turn down.

* * *

Karla had stayed true to her word, and once they’d finished their picnic she’d changed into a dry gown and then they gathered at the terrace they’d been at the night before. Newt, who’d fortunately lost his shoes and socks before he’d been thrust in the creek, simply hung his damp jacket against the railing and remained in the rest of his clothes, thought the hot summer air and bright sun had already dried them out nearly all the way so it wasn’t too uncomfortable. 

All of the candles that had illuminated the scene before had been hidden away once more and the scene instead was that of a beautiful late summer afternoon, the green leaves of the trees glistening against the sunlight and their branches offering the only shade from it, save for the few umbrellas that had been placed around the terrace. 

Newt, Gottlieb, and Karla gathered beneath one of these umbrellas now, sitting on the white wicker lawn chairs that had been placed beneath it. They were arranged in a half circle, so that they could all see another’s faces, with Newt placed in the center. In his hand he held a cold glass of vodka and water with a fresh lemon slice stuck on the rim; it sweated in his fingers, though Newt didn’t mind. He was too preoccupied with enjoying himself and his company, whom only days prior he would have scoffed at being with. 

It was strange, how much had seemed to change in such little time. How he had gone from utterly despising this other man to becoming fond of his presence, to smiling at merely the mention of his name, to looking forward to every promise of seeing him again. He wasn’t even sure of when it had happened; it was seemingly overnight, almost, though perhaps it had always been this way. He just hadn’t been able to see it until now. 

_You see, I love you, most ardently, and against all my better judgement._

He’d long memorized the words by now, and he repeated them internally to himself once more as he watched Gottlieb close his eyes and lean against the back of his wicker chair, so at peace in a way that he had never seen him be at Sladehall End. His face was relaxed so that every wrinkle disappeared, and the man looked his young age once more. 

Newt wanted to reach across the arm of his chair to pick up the other man’s hand, to hold it in his, to see him gently turn his head and smile at him. But he didn’t, though he suspected that Karla wouldn’t have batted an eye in their half-drunk states. 

He didn’t because he wasn’t sure what the other man would do; Newt didn’t even know if he still felt the same way that he had when he’d written the letter. He’d been so clear in his letter that he intended to move on from his affections for Newt, and Newt couldn’t blame him. He ached for a sign that meant that he still felt the same, but hadn’t seen any up to the present moment that confidently told him that he did. 

Newt would have given anything in that moment to turn back time and return to that unfortunate morning, to know what he did now, and to do it all over again. Newt knew now, with a certainty that he hadn’t realized he’d had, that given the opportunity, he would say yes. _Yes, yes, yes,_ over and over again, if it meant that he could stay here forever, in this unearthly paradise of art and literature and nature and music, with these people that he had grown so fond of in such a short time. 

Newt’s true feelings were beginning to come clear to him, and they were that he did like Gottlieb. He liked him a very great deal, it turned out, in fact. 

And now that he knew he did, it seemed as though it might be too late, he considered as a cloud came to pass over the balcony, blocking the sun and breaking his trance.

* * *

Newt wasn’t sure how many vodka and waters he’d drank before the hunting party returned; he’d lost count after his fourth and Karla’s sixth. Gottlieb still seemed to be nursing his second one, as he kept an eye on the two jolly fools to make sure that they didn’t tip off the terrace railing. 

When the party had joined them, Gottlieb stood watch beside Karla and Newt as they sat atop the stone rail, feet dangling off the edge, chattering fervently about everything under the sun. Noticing the new guests, they both went to leap off, though Newt almost tipped sideways. Thankfully, Gottlieb was quicker than him, and had thrown an arm across his chest before he could fall down the story’s distance to the hard earth, though not without a stern glance in his direction.

Newt felt himself blushing, but still grinned at his reluctant savior. “I appreciate that,” he said, patting the other man on the shoulder. 

“Let’s not make it a habit,” gruffed Gottlieb as he helped Newt down, but there was a slight hint of amusement behind his voice. 

“Note taken,” said Newt as his feet hit the hard pavement of the balcony floor once more, safe and sound. The hunting party walked towards them, looking exhausted and rather red from the sun but all the merrier for it. 

“Oh, did you school them all, then, Miss Ainsworth?” called Karla cheekily from ahead of them. 

“Is that really a question, then?” said Miss Ainsworth with a grin as she hooked her arm in Karla’s, and then the two made their way towards the bar cart, leaving the men behind. 

“And how was our Mr. Becket, then?” said Gottlieb. 

“Oh, a right terrible shot,” laughed Hansen merrily, slapping Becket on the back. “though marvelous company.” 

“You ought to be glad I was there,” laughed Becket good-naturedly, seemingly unoffended, “for I made your efforts look almost decent.” 

Hansen gave a hearty laugh, “Now there isn’t a lie there, I’ll agree.”

“So I take it you three were rather unsuccessful?” asked Newt once they’d all gathered in a circle. 

Becket shook his head. “Not entirely; it turns out that Charles here has a knack for it.” 

Chuck’s lips tugged into something that Newt dared to say almost resembled a smile, though it wasn’t quite there. It was the most affection that Newt had ever seen the other man display. 

Newt grinned at his travelling companion. “Well done, then.”

Chuck shrugged modestly before kneeling down to pet Max. 

“Well, we’ve all been out here drinking ourselves a fool,” said Newt, gesturing towards where Karla was helping Miss Ainsworth to a glass of white wine, albeit a bit tipsily. “So you all ought to get working on it, seeing as we’ve gotten a head start.” 

Hansen patted him on the back with his huge, strong hands, almost knocking Newt right over. “Good man,” he praised, walking over towards the bar cart himself, Becket and Chuck following. 

Newt and Gottlieb were alone once more, or at least as alone as they seemed to be able to get these days. 

“Your companions are charming,” said Gottlieb as he watched the Hansens being served. 

Newt nodded. “I agree, though I confess that I have only known them a short while longer than you have.” 

Gottlieb lifted an eyebrow, surprised. “Really? The older gentleman seems to be very fond of you, for such a short acquaintance.” 

“He’s been much more generous than I deserve,” said Newt sincerely. 

“Well, you’re quite easy to like,” said Gottlieb, causing Newt to fall silent for a moment at the compliment. Gottlieb seemed to have almost not realized the words he was saying until he’d said them, and cleared his throat.

“There’s something I ought to discuss with Mr. Becket,” said Gottlieb suddenly, turning away from Newt and quickly walking over towards the other man. 

Newt felt his heart splinter a little in his chest at the abrupt departure, watching the man pull his friend aside and involve him in very serious, quiet discussion. 

Whatever that had just been, he didn’t take it to be the sign he’d been looking for.

* * *

The parties mingled easily, Newt getting his fill of stories about the hunt, most of which involved the utter failures of Hansen and Becket and the impressive successes of Chuck, and Miss Ainsworth. They all continued drinking until the dinner bell was rung, and then kept it up as they ate. Newt could hear all of their voices getting louder and brasher, their laughter more frequent and the glasses filled even moreso. Even despite the slight that he had felt from Gottlieb earlier, Newt enjoyed himself, partaking in all debates and conversations that he could, and finding himself more and more fond of Becket and the ladies as the night went on.

Rain had begun to come and go in short, heavy bursts as they’d dined, so they retired to the library rather than the balcony once dinner had ended. Karla and Newt repeated the Mozart duet that they had sight-read earlier, much to their companions delight. When they’d finished, albeit a bit more quickly this time around, the room had clapped for them, even Gottlieb, Newt saw, though he hadn’t spoken to him since earlier on the balcony. 

Though their audience had requested more, both Karla and Newt, who’d inarguably consumed the most drink that night, were too tired to oblige and instead gracefully excused themselves from the piano. Karla sat on the far end of a three-person couch that had already contained Gottlieb, patting the middle of the seat for Newt to join them. 

Newt felt compelled to do as she asked, though he felt hesitant about being so close to Gottlieb, given their most recent interaction. As soon as he’d sat down, Karla had leaned into his shoulder, resting her head on him and tucking her hand into his arm. 

“What a lovely day it’s been,” she yawned, nuzzling into his shoulder affectionately like a content cat. 

“I couldn’t agree more,” sighed Newt as he leaned his head against hers and allowed his shoulders to relax. Gottlieb’s thigh nudged against Newt’s in the intimate space and their elbows brushed each time either of them moved, a sensation that Newt swallowed down promptly.

“Do you know how long you’ll be staying, Newton?” asked Karla dreamily from her near-sleep state on his shoulder. “I daresay I don’t think I ever want you to return to Sladehall End.”

“And I’m afraid to say that I don’t ever want to leave,” said Newt. He could feel Gottlieb’s shoulders stiffen up beside him as the words left his mouth. “I believe that we are to return to Bridewater at the end of the week, however.”

Karla hummed, clearly pleased. “Oh, good. You’ve still a number of days left, then?”

Newt nodded, though he was careful to not move his head too much, lest he disturb her. “At least five, yes.”

“Well, you’d better be sure to spend them all here,” said Karla through a yawn. 

Newt laughed gently. “If an invitation to do so is extended, I’ll be more than happy to oblige.” 

“Consider the invitation extended, then,” said Gottlieb from his other side, speaking for the first time since they’d all sat down.

Newt suddenly felt warm, his blood rushing to his cheeks. He slowly shifted his head to face the other man, careful to not disturb the lady.

Their eyes met, Newt seeing that a rosy glow had fallen across Gottlieb’s arched cheeks. He blinked slowly as he gazed at Newt wordlessly, and Newt felt his own hand drift down towards Gottlieb’s, which rested on his thigh, dangerously close to Newt’s. 

_Perhaps it was now or never,_ thought Newt to himself as he meticulously shifted his own hand so that it ever so slightly brushed against Gottlieb’s, and waited to see his reaction. 

The gesture seemed to be well-received, as Gottlieb adjusted his own hand so that it gently pressed against Newt’s, entirely undetectable to the rest of the room but plainly clear to Newt. Neither said a word as their hands remained there, only an inch of skin connecting them, and yet so undeniably intimately was that small, harmless patch of flesh.

He could see Gottlieb swallowing down unknown feelings as his eyes still locked with Newt’s. Their hands remained.

 _Do you know, then?_ Newt ached to ask. _Do you know what I’m feeling, and what I’ve felt, and what I’ve considered and rethought and dwelled on a thousand times in the past few short days?_

Newt pressed the edge of his hand slightly closer. _Do you know, then, Mr. Gottlieb?_

And then came the returning press, so that Newt could feel the bones of their knuckles connecting. An innocent act. A soft inhale, his doing. Black lashes against Gottlieb’s cheeks as he blinked at him. _Do you know?_

It seemed as though Newt would be getting no answers just then, as the ever-charming laugh of Mr. Becket crackled through the air, causing both he and Mr. Gottlieb to draw their hands back instantly. 

“It looks as though Karla’s had enough for the evening,” Becket chuckled, gesturing towards the sleeping figure who still leaned against Newt’s other shoulder. “Perhaps we all ought to call it an evening and retire?”

Gottlieb cleared his throat, quickly grabbing his cane from where it leaned against the couch and standing up. “Right,” he said, turning to look at Hansen and Chuck. “I’m sure you all have plenty of plans for tomorrow, and I won’t keep you any longer so that you might get your rest.”

Hansen, who had been chatting with Miss Ainsworth across the room, heard Gottlieb and nodded. “I think you’re right, Mr. Gottlieb, and we shouldn’t intrude any longer. Newton, Charles, shall we say our goodnights and depart?”

Chuck got up from where he’d been sitting on his own, near the bookshelves, and Newt, with the help of Becket, leaned the sleeping Karla against the back cushion of the couch so that he too might stand up. 

“I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, yes?” asked Gottlieb, quietly, once Newt was standing next to him. “For the tour of the greenhouse, I mean.” 

Newt nodded, trying to keep his smile as calm as he could muster. “When I tell you that I’ll be looking forward to it all night, do believe me.”

Gottlieb’s mouth threatened to turn into a smile but remained stiff, though his warm eyes gave him away. “I will, then.”

Finally, Newt and the Hansens had bid their farewells, Newt overhearing that Becket had plans for the other two gentlemen to join him for a horseback ride across the estate tomorrow. Newt was glad, as it not only gave him an easy opportunity to get back to Summerworth the next morning, but it also meant that there would be little fear of anyone else interrupting his private appointment with Gottlieb in the greenhouse. 

He and Gottlieb had shared one last passing glance as Newt went to leave the room, which nearly stopped him in his tracks. The other man’s eyes had looked equal parts uncertain and hopeful as he gave Newt one last nod goodbye for the evening. Newt returned the gesture and finally followed the Hansens out of the room, back to the carriage that promised to bring them back to town.

* * *

Chuck and Hansen had fallen asleep the instant that their heads had hit the pillows back at the inn, no doubt a result of their long day in the sun. Newt, however, found himself unable to fall asleep as he stared at the ceiling above him, considering the events of the past few days. Over and over, these memories played in his head as he yearned for sleep, unrelenting. 

Newt thought about brown eyes, and thin lips, and concave cheeks, and unruly brown hair; pale fingers gripping wooden cane handles, knobby elbows jutting from elegant tailcoats, thighs pressing at the seams of well-fit trousers. He thought about getting the opportunity to run his own fingers over it all, delicately mapping out the other man’s body so that he might remember it forever, so he might recognize it even in the shroud of darkness. 

_Right,_ thought Newt, wearily. _Definitely hadn’t prepared for this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's interested, the duet that Newt and Karla play can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZwJ76l0_woU
> 
> As always, thank you so much to everyone who has read, kudo'd, or commented! You've no idea how much it brightens my day to hear that someone else is loving this story as much as I've loved writing it :)


	17. A Private Moment

Newt and the Hansens slept in the next morning, giving them an unusually late start but none seemed to mind. The Hansens weren’t to meet Becket until noon, and Newt and Gottlieb hadn't set a time for their excursion, so none felt a pressing need to rush. 

They sat at the small kitchen table downstairs eating breakfast with the rest of the guests who hadn’t been amongst the early risers. Newt was busy slapping some preserves on a slice of bread with a dull butterknife as he thought about his plans for the day and the events of yesterday. 

He’d eventually fallen asleep the night before, though not without struggle, and felt well-rested with little hangover, thankfully, given the amount he’d drunk the night before. He feared for Karla’s state, though he suspected that her bed-nurse would be more than attentive. 

Regardless, he was feeling more and more ready for the day to come, and the private meeting with Gottlieb that it promised. While he was still anxious, with each bite of breakfast he prepared himself to bring up the letter with Gottlieb, finally, given that they’d been in each other’s company for two days and still hadn’t discussed it. 

He went over what he intended to say, again and again, practicing so that he didn’t forget a syllable. 

_Hello, Mr. Gottlieb, it’s me, Newton, you know, Geiszler, the one that made it rather clear only a week and a half ago that I utterly despised you and had no intention of either seeing or speaking to you ever again. Well, it’s me, again, and it appears that I’ve had a change of heart, in the sense that I realized that perhaps you were never the selfish, pompous asshole that I always thought you were and instead you are actually rather kind and honest, and you care deeply about things like your sister, and your friends, and butterflies, and the natural world, and you see I’ve completely changed my mind about what I said earlier. I’d actually rather like to come and work with you here, at Summerworth, and to spend all my days with you in your magnificent home and untamed gardens and maybe to hold your hand, even, or perhaps grow old alongside you. In fact, there might be nothing that I want more._

Well, perhaps he would say it more articulately than that, he considered as he took a bite of preserves. But it was a start.

* * *

Becket had met them at the entrance when they'd arrived later that afternoon, quickly whisking Hansen and Chuck towards the stables. Newt knew his way around the house well enough, by now, and wandered towards the library where Becket had told him that Mr. Gottlieb was waiting. 

Becket’s instructions had been correct, and Gottlieb had stood up as soon as Newt had entered the room, folding the book that had presumably been taking residence in his lap and placing it on the table beside his armchair. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Geiszler,” he said as he walked in. 

“Hello, Mr. Gottlieb,” returned Newt, watching as the servant closed the door behind them so that it was only the two of them, for what seemed to be like the first time in forever. 

“Did you sleep well?” said Gottlieb, and Newt almost grinned at the attempt of small talk. 

“After a bit, yes.”

“That’s good,” said Gottlieb, nodding very seriously, and Newt found himself on the brink of being charmed at the idea that the other man really did care that he had gotten sufficient rest. 

“And yourself?” 

“Very well, thank you,” said Gottlieb, and then both were quiet for a moment. Newt wasn’t sure what to say; part of him wanted to immediately bring up the letter and part of him wanted to wait for a more organic moment, but he also didn’t want to partake in any more meaningless small talk, less they start talking about the weather and never cease. He looked around the room, hoping for any quick distraction that might ease the present tension. His eye finally caught the piano, and his lips quickly followed. 

“Do you play, then?”

Gottlieb turned to see what Newt was looking at, as if he might be speaking of anything else in the room. “The piano?” he asked, to which Newt nodded. “No, I can’t say I do, unfortunately.”

“Really?” asked Newt, who hadn’t really terribly cared when he’d asked the question but was now slightly intrigued. “Even with having a musician like your sister in the house?”

Gottlieb nodded. “We already had one; it never seemed like we needed two.”

Newt laughed, genuinely. “Haven’t you ever wanted to learn?”

Gottlieb shrugged his slim shoulders. “I suppose there have been moments where I've thought that it might be useful to be able to pluck a tune or two.”

“Well, then. Would you like a lesson?” asked Newt, who was already walking towards the piano bench and settling towards the higher half of the keyboard. 

Newt looked over his shoulder to see Gottlieb still standing where he had been, mouth slightly open as he presumably looked for a reason to say no. One never seemed to come, however, as he eventually accepted defeat and joined Newt at the bench. 

“You know, Karla has begged me for decades now to sit down for a lesson, and I’ve always refused. She’ll be rather livid when she finds out that you’ve succeeded in doing so.”

“Good. She seems as though she could use some competition in this house.” 

Gottlieb laughed, and Newt was incredibly conscious of the closeness of their shoulders, the seams of their jackets brushing against one another. He made the incredibly rash judgement to shred his jacket and toss it on the floor beside him and, surprisingly, saw that Gottlieb did the same, so that now only a thin layer of cotton separated their skin above the waist. 

Newt looked down at Gottlieb’s fingers that were sprawled unceremoniously across the keys. “You have wonderful piano hands,” he said, to which the other man scoffed. 

“I can’t say I’m familiar with that familial trait,” countered Gottlieb, as if what Newt had said was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. 

Newt chuckled, picking up the other man’s hand and pressing it against his own. “See? You have long, slender fingers; they go far above my short, stubby ones. They’re far better suited for keys.”

Gottlieb shook his head adamantly. “That’s ridiculous, seeing as yours can play the piano while mine cannot. That would make _yours_ the piano hands, as far as I see it.”

“You _do_ love playing the contrarian, don’t you?” laughed Newt, dropping the other man’s hand. 

Gottlieb allowed a small chuckle to escape his own lips. “Perhaps.”

“Now,” said Newt, continuing in his lesson. “What piece would you like to learn?”

Gottlieb raised an eyebrow. “I don’t even know the names of the keys or how to read music.”

Newt brushed away his concerns with a flippant wave of his hand. “That’s of little importance. What I’m asking is, any requests?”

Gottlieb stared at him in confusion in a moment, before sighing and playing along. “Well, then. I won’t lie and say I am very well-versed in popular music, but I have always liked when Karla plays that Beethoven sonata. I’m sure you know the one.”

Newt grinned. “I most certainly do. It’s very in, and very do-able. Now, place your fingers over mine, and just rest them there.”

Gottlieb rolled his eyes but obliged quickly and without argument, allowing his hands to fall on top of Newt’s. Newt could feel the other man’s callouses against his knuckles, as well as their warmth. 

“Are you ready?” said Newt, looking over at the other man, who nodded. 

Newt began to move his fingers as he began to play the first few slow notes of the piece, lifting and lowering Gottlieb’s fingers atop his as he did so. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the other man hiding a discrete smile as he “played” the piano. As Newt lifted his arm to reach higher keys, Gottlieb’s arm followed, mimicking the movement. They proceeded through a few lines like this, the tension between them becoming less stringent and more easy-going as the piece continued. 

“Now, I think you’re ready to be in charge of your own key,” said Newt, flipping over his hand so that it now met palm-to-palm with Gottlieb’s and directing it over to a low C key. “Now, when I nod, you pluck that key, all right?”

Gottlieb let out a small chuckle as he nodded. “I think I can manage it, yes.” 

“Good, because it’s all up to you,” said Newt bodefully, as he took his own hand away and began playing once more. After a measure, he nodded dramatically towards Gottlieb, who now let out a full, true laugh at the other man’s propensity but still managed to hit the key. 

“You’re a right _maestro,_ Mr. Gottlieb!” said Newt, though now he was laughing as well, and now Gottlieb couldn’t stop and neither could he, and both of their hands abandoned the keys as they giggled like school boys at their own ridiculousness. 

Newt was suddenly very aware that he was only inches from the other man’s face. He could see each individual lash as they fluttered against his cheeks, framing Gottlieb’s warm, brown eyes that gazed at Newt with a hint of endearment. 

Gottlieb broke their frozen moment as he began to speak softly. “Newton, I hope this isn’t an inopportune time for me to bring up something that has been on my mind as of late -”

Before Gottlieb could finish, the heavy mahogany door to the library was flung open, and an out-of-breath footman stared at them from across the room, holding an envelope in his hand. 

“Is there something wrong, James?” asked Gottlieb, forgetting his half-finished sentence. 

The footman who Newt presumed to be James nodded, his concerned eyes only emphasized by his reddened face. “Yes, sir. It appears as though there was an urgent post for Mr. Geiszler and the Hansen party just delivered to Summerworth that needs to be read immediately.”

“For me?” said Newt, incredulously.

Gottlieb furrowed his brow, confused. “Why would their post be delivered here, when they’re staying in town?”

James gave a short shrug with his shoulders, walking towards Newt and placing the letter in his hands.

Newt thanked the footman before standing up from the piano and walking briskly towards an upholstered chair by the unlit fireplace, James himself quickly departing the room.

Newt looked at the seal and immediately recognized it to be Mako’s. He then tore off the flap to the envelope and pulled out the page, which contained only a few brief sentences that had been scrawled out quickly; it looked as though she hadn’t even let the ink dry entirely before posting it, as blotches took up half the page, though it was still legible. 

_July the twenty-fourth, 1813._

_Newton and the Hansen family,_

_Langston told me you’d be in Taernsby visiting Mr. Gottlieb’s estate by now, though he didn’t know where you’d be staying, so I have sent this letter to Summerworth, in hopes that it might reach you quickly._

_Something terrible has happened at Sladehall End, and I plead that you all will return immediately. Father is ill and unresponsive. Dr. Howard from the county practice has been attending to him since yesterday, though he fears he has found little good news in his state. I only returned from London this morning, after Langston sent the news to Gracechurch Street._

_I beg that you cut your trip short and come home as quickly as you might._

_M.M._

Newt felt the horror creep onto his face as he read the few short lines, and clearly Gottlieb could see it as well, as he was quickly by his side. 

“Is everything all right?” asked Gottlieb quietly, though Newt could hear in his voice that he already knew it wasn’t.

“No,” said Newt, as he processed the information he had just been delivered. “It’s not.”

“Well, what is it?” pressed Gottlieb gently, looking at Newt with concern. 

Newt didn’t have the heart to say the words out loud, less they make them more real instead passing the letter into Gottlieb’s hands. The other man quickly read the lines and soon his expression was alarmed, eyes widening as they moved from the ink on the parchment back to Newt’s face.

“The Marshal is… unwell?” said Gottlieb in a near whisper as he looked at Newt, a faint panic in his eyes.

Newt nodded before unconsciously sitting down in the chair behind him and covering his face with his hands.

“Well, certainly they must be able to find out what’s wrong with him,” said Gottlieb, in a weak attempt at encouragement, but Newt shook his head, still resting it in his hands. 

“No,” he said, swallowing down his dread. “No, they won’t, because he hasn’t just gotten sick, you see. The Marshal has _been_ sick, and they haven’t been able to work out what it is for some time now. Not old Dr. Howard, or even the doctors he visited up in London. None of them. Oh, _fuck.”_

Gottlieb stared at him at Newt told him everything, about what he’d witnessed on the veranda, about the Marshal’s private confession in the Bridewater library, about how the information had been only known to Langston and him, and how even Mako had not been privy to the truth of the Marshal’s condition. 

“Oh, _shit,"_ said Newt, scrambling to his feet. “I’ve already wasted enough time already; I need to run and fetch the Hansens and we need to start immediately heading back. Mako needs us there.”

Gottlieb stopped him, placing a hand on his arm. “No, let me have one of the servants go and fetch them while they prepare your carriage,” he insisted. He turned to the side of the fireplace and grabbed the bell pull to summon the servants, before shifting back to face Newt, who had since sat back down and now remained frozen in place. 

“They’re making marvelous strides in medicine these days, you know. It’ll be all right, and they’ll figure out what this all is, and put an end to it,” consoled Gottlieb quietly, though his voice lacked the conviction needed to convince Newt of it. 

Newt didn’t respond; he couldn’t bring himself to find any words to even say. All he could think about how desperately he wanted to be beside Mako right now, knowing that she must be there all alone, terrified and heartsick as she sat on the bedside of her ailing father. Oh, _fuck._

James appeared once more in the doorway, and Gottlieb instructed him to fetch Hansen and Chuck and to let them know it was urgent, and to tell their coachman that the party needed to depart immediately. 

Newt suddenly felt hot, stingy tears sliding down his cheeks, and there was little he could do to stop it. He tried to stay as quiet as he could, so that Gottlieb and James might not notice, but as soon as the footman had left once more Newt couldn’t help it, and a sob wrenched its way from his throat. 

“Oh, Newton,” started Gottlieb softly, walking back over to where the other man sat, but Newt frantically waved his hand towards him. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gottlieb, please forgive me for causing such a fuss,” choked Newt between his uncontrollable sobs. He went to wipe at his cheeks with his sleeve, but Gottlieb delicately pushed his hand away and offered a crisp lavender handkerchief that he’d procured from his trouser pocket. 

“Really, don’t apologize,” he said gently, placing a hand lightly on Newt’s shaking shoulders. “You have every right to be grieved, and shocked. If I were in your position, I suspect I would react the same.”

Newt tried to take a deep breath to halt the violent tears, continuing to dab at his eyes with Gottlieb’s handkerchief, but had little success. The tears just continued to come and Newt was utterly helpless towards them. 

“If there is anything I might do, please let me know,” said Gottlieb in his hushed voice as he moved his thumb in circles on Newt’s shoulder blade. 

Newt nodded, unable to meet the other man’s eyes. He heard the sound of the door opening once more and the now-familiar sound of James’s voice calling towards them. 

“A stablehand who knew the trail that Becket and the Hansens took this afternoon has gone after them and will be returning with them shortly, and the carriage is prepared at the entrance, sir.” 

“Thank you, James. That’ll do,” said Gottlieb, and James shut the door behind him once more. 

“I’d better get out there, so as to not delay us any further,” said Newt, still sniffling, as he stood up and retrieved his jacket from where it had been abandoned by the piano. “Please be so kind as to apologize to Mr. Becket and the ladies for us and let them know that it is urgent business that calls us back home so abruptly.”

Gottlieb nodded. “Of course.”

“And if you don’t mind concealing the nature of the reality of the business,” started Newt, who had almost reached the door, before Gottlieb hushed him. 

“You needn’t worry about that,” he promised, offering one last small, sad smile as Newt pressed his hand to the doorknob. 

“Thank you,” said Newt, lingering one second longer than necessary to look back at Gottlieb. He knew that his own face must be red and puffy to no end, given his present state, yet the man still seemed to look at him with almost a degree of affection behind his sad eyes. 

“Goodbye, Newton, and good luck,” said Gottlieb so quietly that Newt almost didn’t hear it as he turned the knob and closed the door behind him, racing down the now-familiar hallways that he knew he should soon forget. 

He hadn’t had the heart to say goodbye himself, because he knew in his heart that he should likely never have the opportunity to see Mr. Gottlieb again.


	18. An Untimely Reunion

Of course, Hansen and Chuck were oblivious at first to the nature of their sudden departure and had a multitude of questions, but Newt had quickly informed them of the current situation at hand, trying to keep his composure as best as he could. However, as soon as the news left Newt’s lips, Hansen fell quiet and Chuck froze in unmoving silence, and quickly Newt was bawling once more, which did not let up even as he gathered his things at the inn and returned to the carriage and was sent off again. In fact, he did not stop crying until nearly an hour into their journey, when his body had finally decided that it had no tears left to give and his ribs could bear his heaving chest no longer. 

The party was largely silent for the few hours journey back to Sladehall End, with Chuck never opening his mouth once and Newt only speaking when Hansen occasionally asked him a question about what he knew of Pentecost’s condition. 

After what seemed like a year’s journey, they finally arrived back in the familiar drive of Bridewater. The sky was dark, not only because of the late hour but because a fierce storm had also begun during the last few miles of their drive; all of the stars were suffocated by the sprawling black clouds that invaded the sky, the only light provided by the coachman’s lamp and the occasional lightning strikes. 

Once they reached the entrance, Newt hardly allowed the driver to stop the carriage before he flew out the door, disregarding all the rules of society that demanded that he exit last. Neither Hansen nor Chuck mentioned it as they ran after him in the heavy rain towards the front door of the main house. Langston must have seen them from the window, as he opened the door for them as soon as they were only a few feet away. Newt was grateful for the quick escape from the rain, though it hadn’t done them much good; all three of them were already soaked, after only the few seconds outdoors. 

Hansen and Chuck went to take off their wet shoes and jackets while Langston greeted them and offered them dry clothes, but Newt didn’t wait. Instead, he bolted for the room that he had long known to be the Marshal’s, tearing down the hallway until he reached it, and immediately threw open the door to face the dimly lit room. 

He quickly made out the figure of Pentecost lying still and small on his bed, Mako kneeling on the ground beside him, her head pressed against his mattress. She turned to see who had opened the door, and upon recognizing Newt, immediately leapt to her feet and embraced him, apparently not caring if she got wet. 

“Oh, _finally!”_ she exclaimed as she tightened her arms around his waist. “You have no idea how I’ve longed to see you.” 

Newt let his own arms wrap around Mako, grateful for the familiarity of his friend’s touch. “It can’t be nearly as much as I’ve missed you,” he said, tucking his face into her hair. 

“You were the only person I wanted beside me,” she said quietly, not letting him go.

“I’m so sorry, Mako,” he whispered after a pause, his voice muffled by her hair. 

With this, Mako began to softly cry, not the soul-shaking sobs that Newt himself had fallen victim to earlier, but instead a muted, close-mouthed weeping that made no sound as the waves fell down her cheeks. He pulled her tighter against his chest. It was the only thing he felt he _could_ do, in this moment where he felt so utterly helpless. 

The sound of footsteps came from the hallway, and Newt and Mako finally separated and turned to face the door. Newt could see Mako wiping beneath her eyes with her small wrist, though it did little to hide their puffiness. 

Hansen and Chuck appeared in the doorway, alongside Langston. Hansen walked in first, stone-faced, eyes locked on the still body that laid in the bed. Newt’s gaze followed, for he had hardly looked at the man since he’d entered, being so preoccupied with his reunion with Mako.

Though Newt knew the Marshal to be well over six feet and nearly fifteen stone, he looked so small as he laid in his bed, only dressed in his nightwear. His blankets only came up to his waist so as to not overheat him, Newt suspected, as he could already see that sweat had pooled on his pillows and sheets around where he lay. Only the occasional breaths would move the Marshal’s chest, but otherwise his figure stayed entirely unmoving. 

“Is he asleep?” asked Hansen as he watched his old friend. 

Mako shook her head slowly. “Not exactly. He isn’t awake, for certain, but the doctor says it isn’t sleep, but rather a state of deep unconsciousness that he may or may not wake up from.” As she finished her sentence, her voice began to crack, and tears started welling in her eyes once more. Newt instinctively pulled her towards him, taking her hand in his and squeezing it. 

“And how long’s he been like this?”

“Last Thursday, the twenty-second. Rose found him collapsed in the library when she was going up to clean the hearth in the morning, and said that he was as unwakable as he is now. Langston sent an urgent message up to Gracechurch Street that day and I was back at Bridewater by Saturday, when I sent the letter to you all in Taernsby.”

“Damn,” whispered Hansen in a moment of surprising indiscretion, though no one in the room judged him. “He’d written to me on the twentieth, informing me that all was well and that it’d be perfectly fine for us and Newton to extend our trip.”

“It was sudden, from what I understand,” explained Mako quietly.

All of them were silent for a moment as they watched the faint movement of the Marshal’s chest as he took periodic breaths, his eyes and lips unmoving, entirely oblivious to the concerned party that surrounded him. 

“Dr. Howard is in the dining room at the moment,” spoke up Langston from the back of the room, breaking the silence, “if you’d like to speak to him, sir.”

Hansen nodded. “I likely should, I think,” he sighed, taking one last look at the Marshal before departing down the hallway, Chuck and Max following behind. 

Mako dropped Newt’s hand from hers as she walked back towards the bed, sitting on the edge. She pulled a flannel from the bedside table and patted it against her father’s forehead tenderly, though it did little to make a dent in the sweat that poured from his skin. Newt sat next to her on the blankets. 

“I wish we could’ve been here sooner,” said Newt, after a moment of silence. “I’ve hated thinking that you’ve been here all alone since Saturday.”

Mako shook her head, though she remained concentrated on dabbing the Marshal’s moist skin. “It’s all right. I’ve had Rose beside me, and Langston and Mrs. Dramouth, too, of course, and Dr. Howard has always been very kind to me.” 

“You and your father have always been kind to everyone,” said Newt softly as he watched Mako nurse the Marshal. “It’s no wonder you might have a house full of friends.” 

Mako let out a soft, short chuckle, though it was clear that there was little heart behind it. “I suppose so.”

Just then, the Marshal’s breathing staggered for a moment, and Newt and Mako both froze as they watched him, as if he might wake up right then and there and be fine again. But, he didn’t, and his breathing returned to its steady pattern from before. Newt’s shoulders sank as he watched it. 

“Does that happen a lot?”

Mako nodded, beginning to pat with her flannel once more. “Every few hours or so, yes. I’m a fool for still allowing it to get my hopes up.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with hope,” said Newt, though even he didn’t believe his own words, not really. 

“Do you think he can hear us?” said Mako, quietly, as she looked at her father’s still face. 

“I don’t know,” answered Newt, truthfully. 

They were both silent for a moment, simply watching the Marshal, until eventually Mako spoke once more.

“I just wish I had been here, you know? At Bridewater, right when he’d collapsed. I know that he’s been in this state since Rose found him, but if he knows we’re here, I hate to think that he spent days like this before he could hear my voice.”

Newt looked at his friend sadly as she brushed her fingers along the side of her father’s face. “Mako, you can’t -”

“I know, I know. It’s silly, but I can’t help it. He's just all the family I have.”

“That’s not true.”

A short, hoarse laugh escaped Mako’s lips. “How is it not? My own parents passed when I was hardly more than an infant, as I know you’re aware, and the Marshal himself has few relatives, and even fewer who have ever visited during my life here. Even the man who is supposed to take my family home upon my father’s death has never met me.”

“I know,” said Newt, gently, “You’ve got about as much family left as I have, and I can’t blame you for mourning that, and I never will, regardless of what happens in the next few days or weeks or however long we find ourselves here. And I know that I’m just your ridiculous tutor who your father ought to have fired years ago, so what do I know, really?” 

With this, the corner of Mako’s lips threatened a small smile. 

“But,” continued Newt, “I’ve known you for nearly a decade now, and seen you almost every day since. I know nearly all your secrets and you know nearly all of mine, and I’ve long regarded you less as my student and more as my little sister, whom I love to tease but care for dearly. And I know it’s not the same as a father, or even a real brother, but I do hope that you’ll see that you do have family, Mako, and people who care for you.”

Now Mako’s eyes looked tempted to well up again. “Oh, don’t cry,” he laughed softly. “I didn’t mean for that.”

She smiled at him beneath eyes brimmed with tears. “I know you didn’t, but it’s just that that was rather sweet, and it’s got me thinking that you’ve always been rather sweet to me, even when I’ve been in the wrong and didn’t deserve it, and _that’s_ got me thinking that, even though I’ve never had an older brother, perhaps that’s what they’re for, and -” 

She didn’t complete her sentence, as the tears finally came down once more, and Newt just pulled her towards his side, and she leaned her head into his shoulder and simply cried as he hushed her gently. “It’ll be all right,” he said, over and over, though he wasn’t sure if it was more for her or himself.

* * *

Dr. Howard had interrupted them a few times over the next few hours to check in on the Marshal, but otherwise, Mako and Newt were largely left alone for the following few hours. They ended up speaking very little and instead largely spent the time in silence, sometimes working on clearing the sweat from the Marshal’s head and neck, other times just sitting there, watching the ebb and flow of his chest as he inhaled and exhaled with little deviation. At one point, Newt had had to fetch a bucket to collect the dripping rain that began coming through a leak in the ceiling, which only added to the dreariness of it all.

Finally, during one of his regular check-ins, Dr. Howard mentioned that it was past three in the morning and suggested that the two of them get some sleep. Mako had been insistent that she wanted to sleep in the Marshal’s room on the couch at the foot of the bed, as she had apparently been doing since she’d arrived back in Sladehall End. After another hour of keeping watch over the two of them, Newt finally retired back to his familiar bedroom in the basement. 

It was strange, returning to the servant’s quarters after having spent so much time imitating the aristocracy, pretending as if he belonged on the upper floors of the house. It was somewhat comforting, to return to the familiarity of his own life, but he couldn’t help but secretly long the life he'd enjoyed over the past few weeks again, deep in his chest. It had been exceptionally nice, partaking in the sort of leisure that one could only obtain through being exceptionally monied and well-connected; he couldn’t deny that. 

Everything in the house was silent, both upstairs and down, and Newt wondered if everyone was asleep or if they were all just quietly in their rooms, feeling their world teeter on the brink of mourning and miracle. 

Once he’d reached his room, he immediately began undressing. His clothes had never fully dried, and he somewhat regretted not taking them off sooner; him falling ill because he’d been too stubborn to leave Mako’s side long enough to change was the last thing this house needed right now. 

As he took off his coat, he felt a soft lump in the pocket. He stuck his hand in to see what it was and removed it, finding Gottlieb’s lavender handkerchief that he’d let him borrow earlier that day. 

“Oh, _shit,"_ he said aloud to only himself. He’d meant to give this back, and now he’d accidentally stolen it. 

Newt finally shredded the rest of his wet clothes and threw on a pair of loose, thin trousers, though he left his shirt off, letting his damp skin breathe for a moment. He sat on the edge of his bed and picked up the handkerchief once more, inspecting it closely for the first time. 

He hadn’t originally noticed the small embroidery on one of its corners before; a delicate orange and pink butterfly had been stitched onto a little orchid blossom, sewn from dark purple thread. In the same orange as the butterfly was a simple _H.G._ beside it. It had all been intricately and tenderly done. Newt was sure that Gottlieb would be missing this, for whoever had gifted it to him had clearly done so with great and evident love. 

Newt thumbed the small embellishment delicately, careful not to tear out any of the stitching. He wondered if, maybe in a far-off universe, Gottlieb might have given this to him as a token of his love, rather than just as a favor in a dark moment. In that better universe, Newt was still at Summerworth, and everything was good and everyone was well, and he could spend his days in the gardens and his nights in the library, and it all beside the man who had so enraptured his heart recently. 

But instead, in this universe, it was merely something Newt had unintentionally pinched, with little opportunity to ever return. 

* * *

Days passed with little change on behalf of the Marshal. The doctor kept him hydrated and Mako and Rose kept him cool and dry, but there was little else to do, besides sit and watch. Hansen and Chuck stayed, for which Newt was grateful. He’d grown so accustomed to their company that he seemed to temporarily rely on them at the moment, Hansen for his leadership and kindness and Chuck for his reluctant softheartedness. 

Newt struggled at times to remember that the house was not in mourning already, as the atmosphere was consistently bleak. By this point, they’d all developed a permanent redness to their eyes and grown heavy bags beneath them, and though they all tried to keep their spirits up, particularly for Mako’s sake, their small talk was somber and their laughter short. This was not exclusive to Newt and the upstairs members of the house, but was also found in the other servants as well. Even Mrs. Dramouth had lost her usual sourness and instead wandered around the kitchen aimlessly most nights, too cheerless to even badger Newt when he borrowed from her cupboards and left dirty cups on the countertops.

As he mostly did these days, at present he sat beside Mako while they tended to the Marshal, ever still and unmoving. They were alone in the bedroom, and only the window remained open to the dreary outside world as it allowed in the brisk nighttime breeze that aided in keeping the Marshal cool. 

Mako sat by his side, dabbing at him with the cold, damp flannel while Newt sat at the foot of the bed, his back pressed against one of its four posters. Neither spoke, so to fill the silence he hummed the tunes of songs he knew, sometimes whistling, sometimes drumming gently on his knees. All the while Mako said nothing, and the clock continued to tick and the rain kept dripping down from the leak in the ceiling.

He was halfway through an unmotivated whistled rendition of an old Scottish folk song when suddenly Mako spoke, though her eyes still remained on her father. 

“Did I ever tell you that the Marshal has a son?”

And with that, Newt fell entirely silent, his lips freezing in a small circle as he stared at his friend across the bed who refused to look at him back. “Well, um. _No,"_ said Newt flatly, unable to think of any other reaction to the spontaneous revelation. 

Mako simply nodded slightly, patting gently at her father’s face with the flannel. “I believe we are the same age, though I have never met him.” 

“Right,” said Newt, attempting to process even an ounce of the information that was being thrust upon him so nonchalantly. “Well, then. How do you know about this?” 

“My old nanny told me once, before you came to live with us. A hint of it accidentally slipped from her lips once and I pressed her until I threatened to ask my father. She made me swear that I’d never breathe of it if she told me, and I’ve kept to it, until now.”

“Damn,” said Newt with a heavy exhale. He could hardly believe that Mako had been sitting on this information for as long as she had, never revealing it. While it shocked him to learn of it, it did give him a sense of comfort to know that Mako might be so faithful to a promise. “Well, what did she tell you?”

Mako’s shoulders gave a slight shrug. “The mother was an American, it appears. Was more of an indiscreet affair than a great romance, or so I understand, and then she was with child, and then he was born in London, and then she disappeared. My nanny said that the Marshal had the intentions of marrying her and raising the boy as his legitimate heir, but the mother would have none of it. I’ve always supposed she ran off to America with him.” 

“Shit,” was all Newt could think to say in return. That was rather… a lot to take in at once. 

“Well put.” 

“Ought we try to find him?” he asked, watching as she looked fixedly on her father. 

“I wouldn’t even begin to know how to begin that endeavor,” said Mako as she bit her lip. 

“Neither I,” said Newt reluctantly. 

“To think that I’ve had the pleasure of having him as a father, while his own flesh did not,” said Mako in a quiet voice, and with that Newt felt the urge to join her by her side on the edge of the bed, placing a delicate hand on her shoulder. 

“There may still be opportunity left to remedy that,” said Newt gently.

“It all seems rather unfair, doesn’t it? To think that the Marshal could have both a son and a daughter, and yet neither of us might stand to inherit any of it if he’s to… in the event of it all, you know?” 

“Rather fucked, indeed.” 

* * *

In the evening of the fourth day since Newt’s arrival, Tendo appeared at the back door that led to the servant’s quarters. Langston had let him in and sent the news of his arrival upstairs with Rose, who informed Newt as he kept Mako company in the Marshal’s room. Though Newt had tried to get Mako to come down and join them, Mako declined, preferring to stay with her father as she almost exclusively did these days. Though he ached to take her mind away from their current reality, he obliged, and departed towards the servant’s quarters. 

Once he reached the basement, Newt was overwhelmed with gratefulness as he saw Tendo’s face, immediately embracing the other man in a welcome hug. 

“I heard about what happened with the Marshal,” said Tendo into Newt’s hair. “Wanted to stop by and give my regards.” 

Newt pulled away, giving him a grim smile. “It’s shit, huh?”

Tendo nodded. “About as shit as it gets.”

Newt led his friend to his personal quarters, closing the door behind them. Tendo sat on the foot of the bed while Newt settled into the wooden chair in the corner of his small room. Stealthily, Tendo procured a flask from his jacket pocket and offered it to Newt, who quickly accepted and took a very long swig of whatever foul-tasting thing was inside. Newt tried to hand it back, but Tendo shook his head. “Keep it. You look like you can use it more.”

“Thank you,” said Newt, sincerely, before downing another gulp. 

“The rumors in town say that it doesn't look well,” said Tendo after a moment of silence. “Is that true?” 

Newt simply nodded. 

“Fuck,” said Tendo, after a long exhale. “I’d hoped they were just exaggerating, but I guess they’re not.”

“Wish they were, for once.” 

“Yeah.”

They both sat there quietly for a minute, Newt occasionally bringing the mouth of the flask back up to his lips for another bitter gulp. 

“Haven’t seen you in ages, it seems,” said Tendo, breaking the silence. “How was Wincaster, by the way? Everything you’d hoped and dreamed?” 

Newt let out a pessimistic laugh. “More or less, yeah.”

Tendo looked at him with a puzzled expression. “What? Were they rude to you or something?”

Newt shook his head, beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol at the edges of his mind. “Oh, no, not really. I mean, the lord and lady of the house couldn’t have been nicer, and the fellows I travelled with are _great_ , really. And the planetarium that I’d told you about? That was _fantastic_. I mean, I’d never seen such a thing. I saw constellations that my eyes had never allowed me to see before.”

Tendo only looked more confused. “So what do you mean, ‘or less,’ then?”

Newt shifted his jaw, fiddling with the flask in his hands. “Well, it’s all rather complicated.”

“And I’m a complex man,” said Tendo, “so humor me.”

Newt sighed. It might as well all come out now. “Well, it just so happens that Mr. Gottlieb was there, too.”

“ _What?”_ said Tendo, incredulously and much too loudly. Newt hushed him, before continuing. 

“Yeah, he was. It turns out he’s the mastermind behind the planetarium and just so happened to be there on a visit as well.”

“Was he a prick?” asked Tendo, nearing the edge of his seat, clearly invested. 

Newt winced at Tendo’s words. 

_Fuck._

This might take some effort. 

“Well, it’s quite hard to explain, you see.”

“Oh, _right._ Because I’m _absolutely_ going to take that for an answer.” 

_“Fine,_ fine.” Right. Not getting out of this one. “Well. _No,_ he wasn’t a prick. But, I mean, he was, also?”

“Oh, of course. I perfectly get you.” 

Newt shot him a glare. “It’s _complicated.”_

Tendo groaned, visibly annoyed. “Clearly I’m missing something, so how about I shut up and you just tell me absolutely everything that happened, all right? Take one more drink, and then start talking, and don’t you dare leave anything out because you know I’ll end up hearing about it one way or another and then I’ll have to disown you.” 

Newt let out a despondent laugh before doing as Tendo ordered, taking one last drink from the flask and putting it aside. “All right, then. If you want the full story, then have it. We met Gottlieb for dinner that first night there, and the gentlemen I was with pretended like _I_ was a gentleman, and Gottlieb went along with it, which I thought was nice, and unexpected. And then, we all went to the planetarium, and he showed us this incredible contraption he’d built, that was operated by -”

“I really don’t care about the physics of it all, I’m afraid,” interrupted Tendo. 

“I thought you weren’t going to talk?” scolded Newt, raising an eyebrow at the other man. Tendo nodded, then mimed the act of zipping his lips and tossing the key over his shoulder. 

And then, Newt told him everything, leaving nothing behind. 

“Oh. Okay, so we don’t hate Mr. Gottlieb anymore, then,” said Tendo, slowly, as if trying to understand it. 

“Correct,” sighed Newt, sitting back up and grabbing for the flask once more. 

“Well that’s… certainly new. Or at least, quite the departure from your previous feelings.”

Newt bit down on his lip. “I guess, before, I could only see that he was... haughty, and a terrible bore, and how everything that came out of his mouth was either short or rude, and I just thought he was this dreadful man who exclusively sought to annoy me with every meeting.”

“And he’s… _not?_ ” asked Tendo, genuinely. 

“No, he’s not,” said Newt, trying desperately to find the right words. “I couldn’t see it until just this week, but he _isn’t._ In fact, he’s brilliant, and funny, and he might always have his foot in his mouth but when he _doesn’t_ he can even be… sweet, almost.” Newt leaned helplessly back into his chair, lying his head against the hard wooden back. “I can’t tell you how I got here, Tendo, but I can’t help but feel something about this man.”

Tendo cleared his throat as he took this all in. “You said he told you that he loved you, right?”

Newt nodded. “In a letter, yes, though I don’t know if it still holds true. We almost never got a private moment while I was there, and then when we finally did, I wasted it.” 

“So,” said Tendo, slowly, while he looked at his friend with a concerned expression. “Do you think that you love him back, then?”

“I do,” said Newt, before he could even think about the words. But it would have been useless, even if he had, for as the words left his lips he suddenly realized them to be entirely and intensely true. “I love him,” he repeated, quietly, though less for Tendo and more for his own realization.

Tendo was silent for a moment, and Newt leaned back up to see what the other man was doing. He’d rested his elbows on his knees and he held his head up with closed fists, his lips pursed and eyebrow slightly cocked. 

“What?” said Newt, raising his own brow at him. 

“Oh, nothing,” said Tendo, sitting back up straight. “It’s just that I can’t believe you disappear for two weeks and then suddenly you’re boning Gottlieb.”

Newt rolled his eyes. “We didn’t do _that_ , thank you very much. And for the record, I liked you better when we had that agreement that you didn’t talk.”

Tendo raised his hands defensively. “Hey, I’m not saying I’m against it. And anyways, you asked.”

Newt tried to scoff, but was interrupted by his own yawn. 

“I ought to get back to Longshire,” said Tendo, noticing his friend’s exhaustion. “I’m sure you’ve hardly slept these past few days, but do try to get some rest, alright?”

Newt nodded, fighting back a second yawn that loomed in the back of his throat. “You’re right,” he agreed, standing up to escort his friend out. 

Tendo shook his head. “I’ll be able to find my way out, no worries. Tell Mako that the house and I are thinking of her and the Marshal, and send her my sympathy.”

“Will do,” said Newt, sitting down on the edge of his own bed. “Goodnight, Tendo, and thank you for keeping me company.”

Tendo opened the door to leave, looking back one last time. “Goodnight, Newt, and don’t mention it. It’s what friends are for, is it not?”

“I suppose so, but it’s still kind, especially coming from an old bastard like you.” 

Tendo only smiled and winked as he walked back into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. Newt leaned back on the bed behind him, head falling on his pillow. For a second, he debated going back upstairs and rejoining Mako, but he didn’t think he could muster up the energy to do so. Regardless, it must have been almost ten by Newt’s estimation, and Mako ought to be falling asleep soon, anyways, so it would be of little use. 

His eyes closed as his muscles relaxed, sinking into the mattress. There was a nice, warm feeling in the corner of his mind, no doubt a result of the liquor that Tendo had provided him. It was comfortable, a temporary relief from the despair that had so consumed him these past few days. From there, thoughts of Gottlieb came to Newt’s mind, swirling through his mind as sleep overtook. 

_You see, I love you._

I love you. _I love you._

 _I love him._ _He loves me._

He loved me. 

_You see, I love him, and he loved me._

_I love him._ _You see._

_You see, you see, you see._


	19. Arrivals and Departures

_August 1813_

Newt rose early the following morning, and after having peered into the Marshal’s room and confirmed that Mako was still asleep on the couch at the foot of the bed, he wandered outside into the grey, misty daybreak. He couldn’t see any farther than he could throw in the fog, but he didn’t need to, knowing his surroundings well enough.

He sat on the steps of the house which were slightly wet to the touch, given the heavy moisture in the air, but he didn’t mind. He procured a cigarette and match from his pocket and lit it, taking a heavy drag before exhaling, the resulting smoke mingling with the thick mist before disappearing. 

The door behind him swung open and then Chuck and Max were beside him, though they both ignored Newt at first. 

“Go on,” instructed Chuck, and Newt first thought he was speaking towards him until the stout bulldog bolted off the steps into the grass and settled his morning business. 

“Sleep well?” asked Newt, and Chuck turned to look at him as if noticing him for the first time. 

“Fine,” said Chuck, whose eyes returned to watching his dog puttering around in the dewy grass. 

“Overjoyed to hear it,” said Newt, taking a puff from his cigarette. He thought about how accustomed he’d become to the other man’s company over the past month, though he could practically count their conversations on one hand. He recalled how much he’d disliked Chuck when they’d first met at Bridewater, how unfriendly and ill-tempered he’d thought him to be. While he still found the man to be cynical more often than not, he couldn’t deny that the few pleasant moments he’d had with him had entirely repainted his perception of the other young man. 

“I don’t think I ever thanked you for your advice at Wincaster,” said Newt abruptly, as he remembered how he’d helped him from making a fool of himself during their first dinner. 

“No need to,” said Chuck, shortly, before putting his fingers in his mouth and letting out a sharp whistle to call Max back over. The dog obediently obliged and trotted back towards them on his stubby legs. 

“Regardless, I very much appreciated it. So, thank you.”

Chuck just grunted in response, face still donning its perpetual scowl, and once Max was back by his side, returned indoors without another word. 

Well, he’d tried.

Newt still had a good deal of cigarette remaining so he stayed outside in silence for a few minutes longer, thinking about the Marshal and Mako, and Gottlieb and Becket and Summerworth, and how grim it all seemed. 

It had almost burned entirely when Newt was startled from his pensive state by the crunching of wheels on gravel and the three-beat pattern of horse’s hooves in the distance. It took a moment for him to see what approached, and then there was a carriage and two large, black horses emerging from the heavy fog. They tore down the road, coming to an abrupt and sharp halt once they’d reach the front steps. 

Newt put out his cigarette on the stone steps and quickly gathered himself as the coachman leapt down from his seat and opened the carriage door. Newt squinted at the figure that exited in an attempt to recognize the approaching visitor, but he had little avail, even once he got past the fog. 

The man stood a whole head taller than Newt and wore a grey frock coat with a burgundy vest over a white collared shirt and black tie. His harsh, pale face donned metal spectacles that sat near the tip of his nose, guarding impassive eyes that peered down at Newt. It was a face that Newt knew he’d never seen before. 

“Are you the butler, then?” the man asked skeptically, Newt immediately aware of his heavy Parisian accent. 

Newt shook his head. “No, sir, just the tutor. Is the family expecting you?”

“No,” said the stranger, and with that he walked straight past Newt and through the door, into the house. Newt scrambled after him. 

Langston had been walking past the entryway when he saw Newt and the unknown man enter and stopped. 

“Might I help you, sir?” asked Langston, raising an eyebrow towards Newt. Newt, who stood behind the stranger and thus out of his view, raised up his hands in defense, as if to say, _I absolutely take no blame for what the fuck is going on right now._

“I’m Dr. Jean Guichard,” he said, removing a sheet of parchment from his coat pocket and handing it to Langston, who looked it over carefully. Newt ached to read what it contained. “I’ve been informed that there is a patient here who requires my assistance.”

Langston looked at the letter for another moment, before looking back at apparently Dr. Guichard. “Right this way, then,” said the valet, directing the man down the hall towards the Marshal’s quarters. Newt started to follow after, but Langston turned and gave him a sharp look that meant that he was to stay behind. 

Newt begrudgingly obliged, and watched as the two figures disappeared from view as they turned down the hall. 

Who _was_ that?

* * *

Newt remained patiently seated at the servant’s table in the basement until Langston finally descended down the stairs, nearly two hours later. He immediately leapt to his feet upon the other man’s arrival, nearly knocking over his chair in the process, to which Langston shot him a disapproving look. 

“Sorry, sir,” said Newt, steadying the chair. “I’ve just got to ask, obviously, who _was_ that gentleman? Were we expecting him?”

Langston shook his head, walking straight past Newt towards his office. “That is none of your business, Mr. Geiszler.”

Newt groaned as Langston shut his office door behind him, and then headed up the stairs, taking two at a time, to see if he could find Mako. She’d surely tell him what was going on. 

Sure enough, he found Mako easily, though she was not in the Marshal’s bedroom as she tended to be these days but instead sitting alone in the library, looking out the window. 

Newt knocked on the open door so as to not startle her with his presence, and she turned to face him. Her expression was not as dire as it had been the past few days, but instead almost… hopeful, he dared to say. Though her cheeks were still puffy from the past few days, no new tears welled in her eyes, which he took to be a good sign. 

“I’d hoped you’d find me here,” said Mako, smiling towards him as he entered. 

“I’m presuming you met Dr. Guichard, then?” asked Newt hesitantly as he stepped towards her. 

“I have, as a matter of fact,” said Mako, “though I was rather startled to wake up to him peering over at me.”

He gave a short laugh. “So I take it you weren’t expecting him either, then?”

She shook her head. “No, I haven’t a clue where he’s come from or how he’s found out about us. At first I thought perhaps Dr. Howard had sent for him, but he was just as startled by his appearance as I was. Hansen didn’t seem to know what was going on, either.” She shrugged. “But he presented his credentials from his Paris practice and said that he’d been requested by a friend of the family, and both Mr. Hansen and Dr. Howard seemed to think it all authentic enough, so now he’s tending to him privately.” 

_So that must’ve been what the parchment had been_ , Newt surmised, though it only answered a sliver of all the questions he had. 

“He said no one beside him and Dr. Howard are to disturb him until we are called for,” continued Mako, “which I considered causing a fuss about but Langston managed to reason with me and convince me that it might be for the better if they do, by some chance, manage to help Father. So now, I’m just waiting here, terribly bored, waiting for something to happen.”

“It’ll take time, if they are able to heal him,” said Newt. “Perhaps it’ll be for the best.”

Mako gave him a small smile as she looked back out the window. “Perhaps you’re all right, though I hate to admit it.”

Newt nodded, wishing there was something he could say to help take her mind off it all. “You haven’t seen anything other than Bridewater in, what, a week? How about we go into town?” 

Mako contemplated the offer for a moment, before finally agreeing. They’d debated walking or going on horseback and eventually settled on the latter, concurring that the adrenaline from a good ride might help lift both their spirits. Mako had saddled up on Romeo while Newt opted for the grumpy old Trespasser, and soon they were off trotting towards town. 

They shared in little conversation on the way, though the silence was not uncomfortable, but rather companionable. Newt knew that her mind would be entirely occupied with concerns about her father, and he knew that no amount of small talk could tear her mind away from it. While thoughts of the Marshal also consumed Newt’s own head, he also was grateful that she hadn’t tried to talk about either of their most recent trips. The last thing she needed was to be caught up in Newt’s own tragedy of an existence.

Instead, they had let their horses take their time walking across the muddy main road, letting the songbirds fill their ears and the still-lingering morning dew dampen their cheeks. He’d had to pull Trespasser’s head up a few times as he’d lunged for tempting flowerbuds, to which Trespasser had angrily snorted and thrashed his head around, but finally obeyed and kept moving. Otherwise, the journey was easy and peaceful, and Newt was grateful for it. 

As the pair and their horses reached town, Newt saw a flood of red uniforms and black hats surrounding the main square, loading up supplies into wagons. 

He hadn’t realized that the militia had still been stationed in town, though it looked as though that was soon to be changed. 

“They must be packing up to leave,” said Mako as she watched the scene before them. “Perhaps we’ll see our old friends.”

“How about I raise you one better,” said Newt as he steered Trespasser towards the hitching posts on the outskirts of the square. “Let’s find them.” 

Mako had consented, and soon they both dismounted their horses and tied them up before wandering into the sea of soldiers. 

It hadn’t taken long for Newt to recognize the three men as they heaved crates of perishable goods into one of the military wagons. 

“Hu! Jin! Cheung!” called Mako from behind them, and they quickly turned around, one by one. The first two faces lit up instantly at the sight of the pair, though Newt noticed a hesitation in the latter’s polite smile. 

“There you are,” said Jin after he shoved his crate into the wagon. “We were wondering where you two had disappeared off to.” 

Though Hu and Mako laughed at his comment, Newt felt his stomach knot as he looked at Cheung, who greeted him with a small, strained smile. He’d all but abandoned the man after a promise to see him again, and he felt terribly guilty for how little thought he’d given it over the past few months. 

_Well done, Newton. Classy._

Mako informed the trio that they’d both been out of town as of recent, though left out the parts about the Marshal, as it seemed as though the soldiers were unaware themselves. Newt didn’t blame her; she’d had little opportunity as of late to escape conversation or pity regarding his ailment, and he couldn’t fault her for taking this one. 

While she and the other two brothers chatted, Newt gestured towards the other side of the wagon, and Cheung seemed to take the hint, and the two discreetly separated from the rest of their party. 

“Hello,” said Newt, once they were alone, or, at least, not directly within earshot of the others. 

“Hello,” responded Cheung, quietly. Newt hated the thickness of the silence that seemed to surround them at the moment; it was a far cry from the comfortable flirting they’d taken part in just a few short months earlier. 

“I’m sorry to have disappeared like that,” said Newt, cutting straight to the chase. “I should’ve written to let you know I’d be away.”

Cheung shrugged weakly. “It’s all right. I understand. Tendo mentioned that you’d departed.”

Newt felt his chest tighten as he looked at the wounded expression on the other man’s face. He remembered how tenderly they had parted last, and how kind the man had been to take care of him and Mako when he’d been… inconvenienced, that night so long ago now. He really had liked the other man and found his company wholly charming, but he knew that he’d given him an impression of feelings that he no longer felt, and that the tension was evident in the atmosphere. 

“Where are you off to next?” asked Newt instead, unable to think of anything else to say. 

“We’re headed west, towards the coast,” said Cheung, moving out of the way of two burly soldiers carrying a large barrel that needed to pass. 

“I see,” said Newt, stepping to the side as well, “and do you ever expect to find yourselves in Sladehall End again, then?”

Cheung shook his head slowly, not meeting Newt’s eyes. “I suspect not. There seems to be little here to require a visit again,” he said softly, his last words cutting at Newt’s conscience.

“Right,” said Newt, under his breath. 

Neither spoke for a moment, the discomfort so present between the two of them when before there had only been amiability. Newt hated every second of the changed relationship, though he knew it entirely to be his own fault. He suddenly felt as though Mr. Becket must have when he’d left Sladehall End with no word to Bridewater, and it was positively depressing. 

“Well, then,” said Newt quietly. “If you ever do, I do hope you’d let me know.”

Cheung gave him one last, sad smile. “I’ll try,” he said, and with that he left Newt’s side and returned to his brothers and Mako, who were bidding one another farewell as their commanding officer had ordered them back to work. 

Newt bid them all goodbye, for what he suspected to be the last time, and he and Mako returned to their horses, deciding that town was too busy and setting back for Bridewater. 

_God_ , was there anything that he couldn’t royally fuck up?

 _So far_ , he thought grimly as the dejected look on Cheung’s face burned in his mind, _the score is not in my favor._


	20. The Lifting of the Veil

The first change to the Marshal’s condition came two days after Dr. Guichard’s arrival. Up until this point, Newt, Mako, and the Hansens had been entirely forbidden from the room with the exception of brief visitors' hours in the evening, though the French doctor refused to leave the room, and even then, only Mako and Hansen were permitted to enter. Chuck and Newt, being neither family nor the interim head of the household, were entirely shut out, much to the annoyance of both of them. 

The day it occurred, Newt, Mako, and the Hansens had been lingering quietly in the library, trying ineffectively to pass the time, when Rose had burst through the door abruptly, unannounced. Her face was red, as if she had just sprinted halfway across the house, and given her jagged breath, Newt suspected she had. 

“Is everything all right?” asked Hansen, standing up from his chair quickly. 

“Yes, sir,” said Rose between deep breaths. “The Marshal’s woken up.” 

At that, all four of them started for the door without saying a word, racing down the hall towards the Marshal’s bedroom. Mako ran ahead of the rest of them, determined to make it to her father’s bedside first. Newt could hear the sound of Rose’s shoes against the wooden floors following behind them.

Quickly, they all entered the room where Dr. Guichard and Dr. Howard stood looking over the figure on the bed. Their expressions were no longer grim, but instead relieved as they looked at their patient, who laid bathed in the light from the open window. For the first time since Newt had arrived back in Bridewater, the Marshal turned his head over on his pillow to face the new arrivals, his open eyes recognizing his guests. 

“Hello, everyone,” he said softly, voice cracking from lack of use. Only a few beads of sweat remained on his skin, a far cry from what it had been before. His eyes were heavy with tiredness, and his lips were cracked, but Newt thought that he’d never seen him look better. 

“Oh, _Father,"_ cried Mako as she kneeled at his side and took his large, calloused hand in her much smaller ones, massaging it with her fingers as she held tight. “I didn’t know if I’d ever speak to you again.” With this, she broke down, her entire body folding in towards the bed as she wept.

“Hello, blossom,” he said in his weak voice, struggling to form a frail smile on his face. “That’s all past now. I’m here.” The words each came out slowly, and he’d had to stop to take a deep breath halfway through, but Newt couldn’t begin to explain how grateful he was to hear his voice. 

Mako said nothing and instead brought her father’s hand to her face and kissed the top of it, tears falling down her face as she did so. 

Hansen approached now, leaving Newt, Chuck, and Rose to linger in the door. 

“You gave us all rather the fright there, old man,” said Hansen as he looked down at the exhausted figure of Pentecost on the bed. 

“I suppose apologies are in order, then,” said the Marshal hoarsely, and Hansen allowed a small, relieved chuckle to leave his lips. 

As Newt peered around the room, he saw various medical instruments and medicines scattered across the window sills and dresser tops. Looking closer at the herbs and powders beside the Marshal’s bed, he tried to recognize them for what they were, but failed. He longed to interrupt and ask what the doctors had done to him, but figured he wouldn’t get much of an answer in the moment, and that was even if they’d lower themselves to talking to a servant like himself. Given his previous encounters with Dr. Guichard, he suspected the chances were low.

“Let’s just say the next round’s on you,” said Hansen warmly. Pentecost tried to laugh, but instead just coughed from the back of his throat, which only tired him more. 

“Perhaps we ought to leave the Marshal alone for the time being,” said Dr. Howard, noticing the pained expression on the Marshal’s face. “Though he’s only just reawoken, he’ll need his rest.”

“Might I stay?” asked Mako, not moving from her father’s side. 

“That’ll be fine, so long as the rest of them leave,” said Dr. Guichard, nodding. 

Mako stayed fixated on her father as the rest of them exited and returned to the library. 

Newt immediately collapsed on the sofa in front of the fireplace once he’d arrived, as he felt every fiber of his being relax for the first time in what seemed like decades but had only been a week, really. 

Hansen settled himself in the chair next to Newt, pouring three glasses of gin from the Marshal’s personal decanter. “I daresay, this requires a celebration,” said Hansen as he handed two of the glasses to Newt and Chuck. 

“I wonder what that doctor did,” said Chuck after taking a long drink. Newt wasn’t quite sure he’d ever heard so many words leave the other man’s mouth at once before, but it seemed as though the good news had brought Chuck somewhat out of his hermit shell.

“I had a similar thought,” said Hansen, nodding. “Seems a miracle that he found us.” He paused for a moment. “Or, was sent to us, I suppose.”

“That really is the strangest bit, isn’t it?” interjected Newt, grateful that someone else seemed to have the same apprehensions as he did, even if it had all turned out for the better. “I mean, he really seemed to appear out of nowhere, and none of us still have a clue who sent for him.”

“Hadn’t you mentioned that he’d seen doctors in London? Do you think one of them might have referred him?” asked Chuck.

Hansen shook his head, taking a drink of his gin. “I thought the same, and even asked him as much last night, but he denied it. He said the individual who had sent him preferred to stay anonymous. The most I could get from him was that it was a friend of the family.” 

“The whole thing is rather bizarre,” said Chuck, and Hansen hummed in agreement. 

Chuck was right; it was all entirely perplexing, which is why it had nagged at Newt so heavily over the past few days. Who was this mystery man whose hand had apparently brought the Marshal back from the brink of death, when so few of them had still harboured hopes for the man’s recovery? Clearly he’d known what he was doing, that much was obvious, and Newt guessed that he was highly regarded wherever he’d come from. It’d probably taken some great effort to get him here from France, and great speed as well. 

_Who had sent for him?_

And, an even better question, _why did they want to stay in the dark?_

What was the benefit in staying anonymous, when your good deed had saved another man’s life? If it had been _him_ who’d sent for the doctor, he would’ve eagerly accepted all of the credit, and why not? Being a nameless good Samaritan was of little use, so far as Newt could see, and though he knew it wasn’t very humble, it was true nonetheless. 

Why hadn’t the individual wanted to put their name on the act? 

Newt took another sip from his gin as he pondered the situation. Chuck and Hansen spoke over him, but Newt paid little attention to what they said. Something nagged at the back of his mind as he turned over the enigma in his head. Something about all of this sounded familiar. But what _was_ it? 

Newt racked his brain for _anything_ that might be connected. He thought through all of the Marshal’s known friends, and it made little sense that any of them would demand such secrecy when it came to their name. Additionally, Newt considered, given the speed of the doctor’s arrival when one considered that he had come all the way from Paris, the anonymous sender must have been alerted to the Marshal’s condition in its early days, which meant that they must be either local or well-connected to the family. He knew that Tendo had found out, but that meant little; a tree didn’t fall in the forest without Tendo hearing it. That didn’t mean, however, that the news had circulated too heavily around the Sladehall End residents very quickly. After all, the Wei brothers hadn’t known of it at all. All of the signs told Newt that it likely hadn’t been someone in town who’d sent for the doctor. But who _had?_

Only Newt and Langston had known about the Marshal’s health prior to his collapse and the seemingly unwakeable sleep that followed; Newt remembered that distinctly from his conversation in the library with the Marshal. Langston was easily tossed out as a suspect, though, as he’d been as confused by the doctor’s arrival as Newt had been, and clearly it wasn’t Newt, and they already knew that the London doctors weren’t involved. 

Had Langston, perhaps, told someone else who’d then sent for Dr. Guichard? Newt doubted it; the older man took his position very seriously and Newt had never thought him to be the type who would’ve blabbered about it behind the Marshal’s back. 

And Newt certainly hadn’t told anyone, he considered, and when he’d asked Gottlieb to give the rest of his party their apologies he’d asked him to not disclose the true nature of the business. Had he gone against his wishes, and told his company? If Becket had sent the doctor, why wouldn’t he have put his name on -

Newt suddenly sat stick-straight up on the couch, his gin sloshing over his hands with the abrupt movement. 

The previously overlooked words of Lady Sasha rang in his ears, loud and clear, as Newt felt his own jaw drop.

_I told him to put his name on it, but he refused._

Gottlieb had refused to put his name on the planetarium. 

Gottlieb had wanted to stay anonymous, rather than be known for one of the greatest technological endeavours of the last decade. Newt had never given it much thought at the time, but now it struck him as uncannily strange and peculiarly familiar. 

Once Newt had made this realization, it took little for him to come to an abrupt conclusion: _Gottlieb had sent the mysterious doctor for Pentecost._

It almost all made sense. Gottlieb knew, and early enough to have been able to successfully send for the doctor in time. Newt also guessed that he was likely well-connected enough to have known the man in the first place. And, as Newt had just figured out, anonymity was no stranger to the gentleman. 

One thing, however, didn’t add up. 

_Why had he done it?_

“Newton?” 

Hansen’s concerned voice brought Newt from his trance, and he realized that the other two men must have been trying to reach him for some time, as they both stood close to his face, gazing at him curiously. 

“Are you all right, son?” asked Hansen once he saw that Newt’s eyes had unclouded and had locked on his own. 

Newt nodded, wiping the gin that still stuck to his hands on the side of his trousers. “I am, thank you,” said Newt, returning to the real world. 

“You looked like you’d seen a ghost there for a moment,” said Chuck quizzically as he watched the other man. 

“I feel as though I have,” said Newt. Both Hansens still looked at him with a skeptical expression painted across his face.  
  
“Right,” said Chuck, rolling his eyes and turning back to face his father.

Newt tried to re-engage in the conversation, but his thoughts still circulated on the strange realization he’d made.

Had Gottlieb sent the doctor as a sort of apology for having been the ruin of Mako and Becket’s union, a way of atoning for it? Newt dwelled on the thought for a moment; it made sense, the more he pondered.

Should he tell everyone what he’d uncovered, he wondered? Granted, he didn’t know for certain that he was correct, though he felt deeply that he was. What if he did tell them? Wouldn’t they have questions about why Gottlieb had done such a thing? Then Newt would be forced to explain to everyone how Gottlieb had purposefully brought an end to Mako and Becket’s courting, which he hesitated to do; though Gottlieb and Becket were unlikely to ever to return to Sladehall End, he didn’t want it to be common knowledge in the house that the gentleman had had a hand in it all, even if his intentions had become somewhat visible to Newt. 

No, he decided; he should keep his realization to himself. Gottlieb had, after all, wished to remain anonymous, and Newt had a duty to respect that. It was the least he could do, when he considered all the strife he’d caused the other man. 

So that was it, then. Newt had made the great discovery and he couldn’t tell anyone about it. It was somewhat infuriating to be alone in knowing such a secret, but there was little he could do about it. Regardless, it seemed that that was all Newt’s life was these days. Secrets upon secrets, closed doors and candles out, and him, all alone, in the middle of it all. 


	21. Old Friends

The Marshal’s health improved with each passing day, and by the time that two weeks had amassed, he was able to walk around his house once more, though he relied on a cane and took frequent breaks so as to not exercise too greatly. Dr. Guichard had advised against straining himself too quickly before he’d departed the week prior. Dr. Howard, still residing in Sladehall End, visited less and less with each passing day, which Newt accepted as testament to the Marshal’s recovery. 

At the present morning, they all stood in their familiar order before the steps to Bridewater, sending off their last two guests. 

The Marshal shook Hansen’s hand and spoke a few words to him that Newt couldn’t hear, though he expected they were along the lines of thanking him for serving as the head of the household while he was ill; Pentecost had been sure to acknowledge the other man’s kind deed with nearly every conversation, much to Hansen’s humble embarrassment. 

Hansen went down the line, bidding a tender farewell to Mako and then finally reaching Newt. 

“I suppose our journey draws to a close here,” chuckled Hansen, placing his hand on Newt’s shoulder. 

Newt felt his own face fall, despite himself. He’d grown increasingly attached to the man over the past few eventful weeks, and the thought that he might not see him again disheartened him greatly. 

Trying to not allow his sadness to reveal itself, he smiled up at the older man. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you for all you’ve done for us,” said Newt, earnestly. “Especially what you’ve done for me.”

Hansen shook his head and smiled. “It was my pleasure, Newton. I do hope you’ll keep in touch, once we’ve returned. Perhaps you’ll be able to come visit us in Traford someday. I think there’ll be many things of great interest to you there.”

Now Newt’s smile was genuine as he beamed at the other man. “Oh, certainly, sir! I’d like that very much.” 

Hansen squeezed his shoulder affectionately before lowering his hand back to his side once more. “I’m glad to hear it.”

They wished each other good health and safe paths forward, and then it was Chuck’s turn to say goodbye. Newt braced himself for an emotional parting, where Chuck revealed that he’d been fond of Newt all along and said that he’d _love_ to host him in Traford, but none came. 

“Goodbye, then,” said Chuck stiffly, before turning back round on his heels and heading for his carriage, Max following close behind. 

Right. Should’ve seen that coming. 

* * *

It was a Monday morning roughly a week later when Newt and Mako found themselves in their familiar old chestnut tree. This time, they both sat beside each other on the thickest, straightest branch, passing a muffin between the two of them while they watched the sun creep towards its highest position in the sky. A cool breeze passed through the green leaves around them, sending a few falling into their laps. 

Mako took another bite from the remaining half, handing it back to her friend for his turn. “It feels as though we haven’t been out here in years,” said Mako after she’d swallowed.

Newt nodded, his own mouth full. 

“I feel much older than I did the last time,” she continued, picking a leaf from her lap and beginning to pick it apart. 

“I suppose we are,” said Newt. _And you don’t even know the half of it._

Ever since the Marshal had begun his recovery, Newt had debated telling her about everything that had happened before her letter arrived at Summerworth, but the right moment never seemed to pop up. He knew she would be far more inquisitive about the specifics of her encounter with not only Gottlieb but Becket than Tendo had been, and he feared having to reveal all of the details. He still hadn’t figured out how to tell her about Gottlieb’s involvement in her and Becket’s affairs, though he wasn’t sure what he dreaded more: her knowing the full story, or her hating Gottlieb after it. 

“Thankfully we still have our youthful good looks,” mused Mako, which made Newt chuckle. “Though a fat load of good they’ve seemed to do us so far.”

“I’ll toast to that,” agreed Newt, passing the muffin back to his companion. 

Mako accepted it and took a bite, returning it to Newt. She looked thoughtfully off at the trees in the horizon while she chewed. Newt studied her face; though her youth had not disappeared in the slightest over the past few months, Newt did think she looked older. The maturity was not in any new wrinkles in her skin or greying strands in her black hair, but rather in her eyes. They seemed wiser, yet more hesitant, as if she suspected that everything before her might vanish in an instant. 

“Do you remember, when you were thirteen, and tried to convince Rose and me that your father had said that you could live in the basement with us?”

Mako’s trance broke as she glanced back over at Newt. “I was far less interested when you told me that I’d have to share a room with Mrs. Dramouth. **”**

“I thought it was that we told you that we’d be giving Langston your own bedroom?”

She considered it for a moment. “Was it both, perhaps?”

Newt took a bite from the muffin. “Probably both. Sounds like us.”

“You two always did seem to know just what to say to catch me up,” said Mako, her expression beginning to brighten. “You know, I went through six nannies by the time I was eleven.” 

“I remember the sixth, though only vaguely. Eleanor, was it?”

“Something like that. She left only a month after your arrival, if I recall correctly.” Mako smiled fondly. “I believe she entirely gave up hope in the particular field afterwards.”

“Your father seemed to give up in the pursuit of your governesses after that as well. Was your name blacklisted from every directory in England, then?” 

“No - Well, perhaps. But I don’t think that’s it.”

“No?”

“No. I think that it’s rather your fault, really.” 

“I scared the nannies off, then?” scoffed Newt as Mako plucked the sliver of remaining muffin from his hand. 

“Of course not,” said Mako as she broke off a chunk and popped it in her mouth. “What I’m rather trying to say is that I no longer needed a nanny, for as soon as you arrived I simply spent all my days following _you_ around and staying out of trouble.” 

Newt cast her a skeptical glance. “In nine years of service, I don’t believe I ever _once_ kept you out of trouble.” 

She shrugged, breaking the remaining muffin in half and giving them each a portion. “To my father’s knowledge, you did. Or, at least, you always kept it at an acceptable level of, say, perhaps allowing me to go cliff-diving at midnight but not, rather, permitting me to make an arse of myself in the town square.” 

He thought for a moment. “Did we not do that as well?” 

“We always hid it well, at least. Well, usually.” 

Mako had just popped the last bit of their breakfast in her mouth when, suddenly, her face turned from contemplative to alert, her jaw stopping its chewing and her eyes squinting to look closer into the distance. 

Newt turned to see what she was looking at and quickly recognized the apparent distraction: a grey gelding and a glossy black stallion headed down the road, still a few minutes away from Bridewater but clearly headed in its direction. He recognized the horses instantly. 

“That’s Mr. Becket and Mr. Gottlieb,” said Mako before Newt could, her mouth still half full. 

The two both gaped at the approaching horses for a brief second, before both immediately leapt from the branch to the ground and set off running towards the house.

They flew by a confused Langston as they raced through the entrance towards the parlour. The Marshal was already sitting in there, his newspaper spread out in front of him. He peered over the top of the pages with a questioning glance as Mako and Newt both shot to the mirror that hung on the wall. 

Mako set at picking the leaves from her hair as Newt brushed the remnants of bark and muffin from her white dress onto the carpet, kicking it underneath the chair that the Marshal sat in. 

“Might someone tell me why we are bringing the woods into my parlour and leaving it on my rugs?” said the Marshal as a bewildered Langston joined them in the parlour. 

“Becket and Gottlieb are but a minute away, sir,” said Newt over his shoulder as he joined Mako back up at the mirror, helping to straighten out her disheveled hair. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and realized in horror that he looked as if he’d just been dragged out of bed, but if that bed was a hawk’s nest in a chestnut tree. 

“ _Fuck,"_ said Newt with a frustrated sigh as he began straightening his own hair and collar. 

The Marshal cleared his throat, and Newt saw through the reflection in the mirror that he’d lowered his newspaper further to give Newt a disapproving look with his full face. 

Newt turned around, looking at the Marshal apologetically while he continued fixing his lapels. “Sorry, sir.”

“How do I look?” asked Mako, pulling away from the mirror and twirling so that Newt might be able to see all of her. 

Newt stopped her before she turned around entirely, picking one last bit of leaf from her hair, and then they faced each other once more. 

“A vision,” said Newt, and he almost went to ask her the same, but then a knock came at the door. Both he and Mako whipped their heads to look at the parlour entrance. Langston still stood in the doorway, watching the two of them. 

“Do I have your approval to let them in, m’lady?” asked Langston, a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. 

“Permission granted,” said Mako. Langston gave a short nod before going to the doorway. 

“Act natural,” instructed Mako, and Newt immediately brought his hand out to lean against the cabinet, tossing his other hand in his pocket and crossing his foot over the other. Mako herself sat down on the nearest chair, delicately crossing her ankles and placing her hands politely in her lap. 

“Very casual,” said the Marshal. They ignored him. 

Within moments, Mr. Becket and Mr. Gottlieb were ushered into the parlour by Langston, who himself left once the two gentlemen had entered. Mako and Newt both rose as they walked through the doorway, and the Marshal went to stand, though slowly, before Becket raised his hand to stop him. 

“There’s no need, Marshal,” said Becket, smiling at the older man. “I’ve heard about your unfortunate circumstances recently, and there’s no need to strain yourself on my behalf, particularly when I’m intruding without an invitation. I am glad, however, to see that you are feeling better.”

The Marshal accepted Becket’s offer and remained sitting, nodding at the two gentlemen. “Thank you, Mr. Becket. It is good to see you and Mr. Gottlieb again, though I’d not been aware that you were set to return to Sladehall End so soon.”

“We hadn’t been, until recently,” said Becket, shooting a knowing glance at Newt which Mako very clearly noticed, as she also turned to look at her friend with pointed interest. Newt carefully avoided her eye contact.

“Hello, Miss Mori, Mr. Geiszler,” Becket continued, nodding towards both of them. Newt returned the nod, as did Mako, though neither spoke. Newt was sure, in Mako’s case, that it was because of the nerves brought on by the unexpected intrusion, but for Newt, it was simply because he couldn’t take his eyes off their other guest, who had said nothing thus far.

There Gottlieb was, standing in his parlour, in his dark blue tailcoat with gilt buttons, hands clasped on the head of his cane. Newt felt himself gulp inadvertently as he stared at him, though Gottlieb himself seemed more focused on the conversation between Becket and the Marshal than Newt. The other man’s face was expressionless, save for the occasional polite smile he gave the Marshal. 

“Do you mean to stay long in Sladehall End on this visit, then?” asked the Marshal, folding his forgotten newspaper and setting it beside him. 

“Our plans are not yet firmly settled,” said Becket in an unwavering voice as he looked at Mako, whose own eyes had widened as she watched her old acquaintance speak directly towards her. “But I do hope that we shall stay some weeks.”

The Marshal nodded. “Well, the town will sure be glad to hear of your return, even if it is temporary.”

“Thank you, sir.” Becket glanced up from his shared gaze with Mako, and Newt could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “If you approve, Marshal, might I request a private moment with the lady?”

The Marshal’s own brow raised at the request, though he nodded slowly. “You might,” he said, then turning to Mako. “You two may congregate in the dining room, if that suits you?”

Mako looked to be entirely at a loss for words by this point, simply nodding and walking towards the entrance. Gottlieb stepped aside to let her pass, and then Becket and Mako disappeared down the hall towards the dining room. 

Only Newton, Gottlieb, and the Marshal remained in the parlor now and Newt suddenly began to feel very warm as he watched the visitor shift awkwardly in the doorway, apparently unsure if he should sit down or leave. The Marshal, too, looked as if he didn't quite know what he was to do about his presence. 

“Might I show you the grounds, Mr. Gottlieb?” said Newt abruptly, words tumbling out of his mouth. “Seeing as this is your first visit to Bridewater, that is. I thought you might like to see it.” 

Gottlieb looked startled at the sudden invitation. “Right,” he said slowly, his eyes meeting Newt’s tentatively. “I mean, certainly.”

“Great!” said Newt, immediately heading for the door, dragging Gottlieb out with him into the hall, and then out the entryway, into the front lawn. 

Once they were away from all other ears, Gottlieb turned to him, expression skeptical. “Are you really showing me the yards?” he asked, while Newt scanned the scene around him. 

“Of course not,” said Newt, setting off towards the stable boys’ quarters, separate from the main house, near the old barn. He waved his arm behind him, as if to tell Gottlieb to follow, and given the sound of his shoes and clicking cane against the gravel pathway, it seemed as though he was. 

Finally, they were right outside the stablehand’s quarters, and Newt hunched down, sneaking underneath the large window on its front facade. “Stay over there,” said Newt, and Gottlieb huffed, but obliged. 

“Might I ask where you’re dragging me off to?” said Gottlieb, careful to keep his voice low though his irritation rang through clear as a bell. 

“Just _give_ me a second,” said Newt, peering in through the windows of the stable boy’s quarters. All five of them sat at their small kitchen table, cards in one hand and beers in the other. Just as he’d thought; they were off for lunch. They had about an hour, then. _More than enough time._

“Follow me,” instructed Newt, crawling out from beneath the window and leading the other man towards the horse barn. Gottlieb did as he asked with no more fuss. 

Once they were both standing before it, Newt pulled back the ancient door to the old barn, its long-rusted hinges creaking as it opened. He ushered Gottlieb in ahead of him, closing the door behind them, and then it was just them.

The horses in their stalls snickered gently around them, flies buzzing around their noses and causing them to shake their heads, jingling the metal clasps on their ties. Sun peeked in through the cracks in the old wooden roof, scattering light throughout the barn’s floor, where Newt and Gottlieb stood only a few feet apart.

“I know it was you.”

The words left Newt’s lips before his mind even told them to. Gottlieb looked at him, startled, before feigning confusion. 

“What do you mean -”

“You know what I mean.”

Gottlieb was quiet for a moment, blinking as he looked in Newt’s eyes but made no movement. 

“You sent Dr. Guichard,” said Newt, articulately. “I figured it out weeks ago. Don’t pretend to play coy now. _I know.”_

The other man started to speak, before closing his mouth, and opening it once more. Newt watched as his brow furrowed and unfurrowed while he tried to come up with what to say. He carefully didn’t think about how beautiful his eyes were against the pale wood of the barn and how golden his hair looked beside the yellow hay.

"Mr. Gottlieb, please -"

“Okay. Fine.” Gottlieb clasped both hands on his cane, rolling his lips against his teeth. “Perhaps I did.”

“Oh, you just say it _so_ casually -“

“Sorry, Mr. Geiszler, that I hadn’t prepared a _script -“_

“You saved his life, and I can’t tell them,” said Newt, spreading his arms in the air in exasperation. “Do you have _any_ idea how infuriating that is?”

Gottlieb stared at him. “To begin, Dr. Guichard saved the Marshal’s life, not I, so give your respect where it is due -”

“I’m not speaking in _specifics_ -” 

“And _specifically secondly,_ I go through the effort of sending over a doctor to save your dear friend’s father’s life, ensure that it’s all paid for in advance, and it works out, successfully, and your reaction is to be _infuriated_ with me?” He threw up his hands in surrender, shaking his head and staring at the barn ceiling in frustration. “There is no winning with you, Newton, I _swear.”_

Newt opened his mouth to retort, before pausing and considering what the man had said. “You mean, you paid for it as well?”

Gottlieb clamped his jaw shut, staring back at the man guiltily as if he’d been caught amidst the middle of a crime, and said nothing. 

“Well, don’t look so _embarrassed_ about it,” groaned Newt, bringing his fingers up to his temples and pressing. This wasn’t going how he wanted it to be going. 

"Well, I'm _sorry_ that I apparently -"

“Thank you.” He finally said the words after a heavy sigh, and then the words came quickly and passionately from his lips as he stared at the exhausted face of Gottlieb standing before him. “What I’m _trying_ to say is, _thank_ you. Thank you for saving his life. Thank you for saving my friend’s father’s life, and thank you for all the great effort that you went through to do so. It was a very kind thing to do for a man you hardly know.”

"Oh." Gottlieb nudged at the great heap of blonde hay next to him with the tip of his cane, not looking up at Newt’s eyes as he fixated on each straw. “You’re welcome,” he said, still staring at the ground. A moment passed. “And though I am glad to have aided in saving his life… I -” 

Gottlieb paused, his cane now resting still in his hand. What he said next was hardly audible to Newt, as he said it under his breath in the quietest of voices, as if he weren't quite certain of whether or not he wished to be heard. “I wouldn’t say that it was all for him.”

“Right,” said Newt, nodding. “For Mako, of course. I figured that bit out, too.”

With his last comment, Gottlieb groaned loudly, a sharp contrast to his former whisper. “ _No,_ Newton. _Please,_ catch up.” He rolled his eyes at him, those wistful brown eyes that made Newt gulp. 

"What do you mean -"

 _"Newton._ Just _think._ "

He paused for a moment in confusion, trying to understand what the other man was saying, before it finally dawned on him. 

“Oh,” said Newt, as it all registered to him, finally and clearly, and Gottlieb sighed in exasperation from across the room.  
  
“Yes,” he said after his long exhale. “ _Please_ understand.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Of course. How hadn't he seen it before?

 _Of course._

Newt felt his feet moving beneath him without instruction, until he stood only inches from the other man. 

"I think I might be beginning to understand."

"I pray you are." 

“So,” he started, swallowing down his nerves and trying to replace it with temporary bravery, “what you’re saying, then… is that you did it…”

Newt’s fingers found themselves wrapped around the lapels of the other man’s jacket, gently pulling him closer to his chest as he had so craved to do since the man set foot back in Sladehall End. 

“For me.”

“ _Yes,_ ” gasped Gottlieb, and Newt couldn’t tell who pressed their lips on the other’s first, but then, there it was: Newt was kissing Gottlieb, and Gottlieb was kissing him, and then they were delicately falling into the hay bale that stood beside them, and Gottlieb had Newt pinned down beneath him, and they were kissing, and Newt had never been more sure that he’d wanted something in his _life._

It wasn’t like how it’d been before, when they’d grasped at each other so frantically and forcefully in the dark at Wincaster. No, this time, when Newt opened his eyes, he could look at his lover’s face as their lips joined together. He saw his dark eyelashes blissfully lying across his pale cheeks that had turned pink in the last few moments, and felt his own heartbeat quicken. The desperation of their last encounter was gone; instead, there was softness as Newt brought his hand up to the other man’s cheek, feeling his face sink into his touch as his lips left Newton’s and instead went to kiss his palm gently and repeatedly. 

Newt felt his body submerge further into the straw as Gottlieb’s body lowered further onto his own. The weight of his body atop his own only increased Newt’s pleasure as he began to kiss the other man’s cheek softly, causing Gottlieb to moan faintly under his breath. 

“You’ve no idea how desperate I’ve been to see you again,” whispered Newt in the other man’s ear as he kissed his way up his jawline. 

Gottlieb moaned once more, shivering under the other man’s touch. “Would it take you out of the moment if I were to say that that news is a surprise to me?” murmured the gentleman as he sank further into Newton’s touch. 

Newt stopped his trail of kisses to laugh softly, his eyes meeting Gottlieb’s. The other man looked up at him sheepishly, his rosy cheeks only deepening in hue. 

“Very little could take me from this moment right now,” said Newt with a soft smile, and Gottlieb exhaled, and Newt realized that he’d been holding his breath, which only made his own heart pound harder. _Fuck, that was charming._

Newt flipped the other man over so that Gottlieb was lying on his back in the straw while Newt held himself propped up on top of him. 

Now, Gottlieb’s cheeks had turned a bright red, though he wore a warm smile as he gazed up at him. “I’m glad to hear it, then.”

Newt felt the tips of his ears begin to redden as Gottlieb brought his hand up to Newt’s chest, pulling softly at the collar of his shirt before running his fingers along the bare skin above it. His entire body tingled at the touch. 

“Does that mean, then,” said Gottlieb quietly as he traced Newt’s collarbones with his thin fingers, “that your affections have changed since earlier this summer?”

“It rather does, I’m afraid to say,” said Newt as he looked down at the man beneath him, pressing a soft kiss against his forehead. “It appears as though I’ve had a great change of heart in recent weeks.”

“Exceptional news, really.” 

Newt watched as the other man’s eyelashes fluttered against his pink cheeks, and his hand stopped to rest on the side of Newt’s neck, his fingers brushing against the ends of Newt’s hair. “In fact, I rather don’t believe that I can get enough of you at the present moment,” said Newt slowly. 

“Are you entirely sure? I mean, that _is_ a rather bold statement.” 

“See, you’ve got this tendency to make me _feel_ rather bold, so I suppose it’s only fitting.” He paused for a moment. “That is, if you haven’t decided to hang onto _your_ rather strong statements at the end of your last letter, in which you made it _very_ clear that you had no further intentions of bothering me any further.” 

“I don’t believe that that was rather my _last_ letter -”

“Is it going to be like this all the time?” 

Gottlieb laughed seemingly despite himself, making Newt’s smile only grow warmer. “I suspect so, but to answer your other question, I can assure you that my affection for you has never wavered since its initial conception."

"Is that so?"

"I'm afraid so. It seems that you’ve rather cast me under quite the spell, Newton, to have enraptured my heart as you’ve done; and I pray, promise me, you’ll never release me from it.”

Newt was grateful that he wasn’t standing, for he felt his knees buckle at his words. “I can make that promise.”

“Come back with me,” said Gottlieb, softly, as he circled his thumb against the edge of Newt’s jaw. “To Summerworth, I mean.”

Newt turned his head to place a gentle kiss against his thumb. “I’ll have to be released from my contract first,” he said as Gottlieb moved his hand so that it cupped Newt’s cheek.

“I have my suspicions that Miss Mori will not be residing at Bridewater for much longer,” said Gottlieb, a coy smile appearing at the corner of his lips.

 _Right,_ thought Newt, remembering the previous events that had just taken place in the parlour. He’d almost entirely forgotten that Becket was there, or that Mako and the Marshal were, even, having been so entirely wrapped up in Gottlieb’s appearance. _Fuck_ , Mako was in there, potentially getting engaged, and Newt had completely allowed it to slip his mind. While he dwelled in his guilt at being a terrible friend, Gottlieb continued to brush his thumb against Newt’s cheekbone, which only further caused Newt to completely forget that the rest of the world existed. 

“Are you completely positive that that’s what’s happening in there right now, then?” asked Newt, feeling himself sink into the other man’s touch. 

“Entirely. I’ve made certain of it.”

Newt had thought that his heart couldn’t swell any further, yet he found his presumptions entirely unfounded as the words left Gottlieb’s lips. Newt couldn’t help but lean down and begin kissing the other man once more, allowing his fingers to tangle in the other man’s brown hair, feeling the straw scratch against the back of his hands but finding himself completely unable to care. 

They continued to kiss earnestly for the following few moments, Gottlieb pressing his lips harder against Newt’s as they went. Newt wrapped his fingers tighter in the other man’s hair, pushing himself closer towards him. 

Finally, Gottlieb broke his lips away from Newt’s and Newt brought his face above the other man’s once more. “Is that my answer, then?” he said as he delicately pulled a strand of hay from Newt’s hair. 

“Yes,” laughed Newt, breathlessly, as he gazed lovingly down at the man he had pinned beneath him. _"Yes,_ there is nothing that might bring me more happiness than the very idea of it.”

“So you’ll come?” asked Gottlieb, softly. 

“As soon as I can,” said Newt, feeling the other man’s fingers curling around a strand of his hair, leaning into the touch. “I’ll come back to Summerworth, and we might never spend a day apart for as long as you and I both live, and I think we shall be very happy.”

Gottlieb’s fingers tightened in Newt’s hair as he gently pulled the man back down closer to his lips. “I can hardly stand the thought of being parted from you from this day on,” he whispered. “I don’t know how I’ll bear the wait.”

“Soon,” said Newt, brushing his lips against the other man’s cheek. Gottlieb tingled at the touch, though his face only became more blissful. “We’ll be together soon.”

“I would wait a thousand years if it meant I could simply glance upon your face once more,” hummed Gottlieb as Newt peppered kisses across his face tenderly. 

“I am glad to hear of it,” murmured Newt between kisses, tucking his hand beneath Gottlieb’s neck to bring him closer. “Though I don’t think such patience will be necessary.”

“My Newton,” whispered Gottlieb as Newt kissed down his cheek, towards his jaw. 

Newt felt his face grow warmer as the other man called him by his name; he’d never heard his name said with such affection, such gentleness before. 

“And you are mine, Mr. Gottlieb,” said Newt as his mouth grew closer to the other man’s. 

Gottlieb laughed as Newt’s lips drew nearer to his own. “Really, I think we’ve ascended past the need for such formality. Please, call me Hermann.” 

Though he was but an inch away from the other man’s lips, Newt pulled back gently, letting his eyes meet the other man’s. 

“Hermann,” said Newt, articulating each syllable as if it were a foreign word he’d only just learned. 

“Yes,” said the other man with a soft chuckle. 

“Hermann,” Newt repeated, even more slowly. He looked down at the man below him, _Hermann,_ as if he had brand new eyes; this was _Hermann,_ who was intimately and devotedly his, and he never wanted to look away again. 

The man who Newt was still trying to process as Hermann rolled his eyes but still smiled warmly up at him. “Say it a few more times and then perhaps you might get it,” he laughed. 

Newt couldn’t help but grin, and then lowered himself down, placing another kiss on Gottlieb’s lips - _Hermann,_ he reminded himself. And then he and Hermann were kissing once more and neither pulled apart, instead bringing their mouths together with urgency, sliding their tongues against each other’s teeth, the occasional whimper escaping their lips. Hermann brought his hand up and cupped it against Newt’s ass, squeezing, and Newt couldn’t help but moan, still refusing to let his lips leave Hermann’s. 

_“Fuck,"_ groaned Newt into the other man’s mouth. He went to bring his own hand south when suddenly he heard a faint voice from outside the barn. 

“Newton?” called out Mako’s distant voice. “Mr. Gottlieb? Where are you?” 

Newt pulled his face apart from Hermann’s, unable to help his own face falling. “Shit,” he said, though he couldn’t bring himself to get off the other man just yet. 

“I suppose we have to rejoin the real world at some point,” said Hermann, and though he still wore a close-lipped smile, Newt could clearly hear the disappointment behind his voice at having to leave behind the present moment. 

“I suspect you’re correct,” said Newt, placing one last kiss on the other man’s lips before pulling himself off him, standing back on his feet. He offered a hand to Hermann to help him get out of the bale of hay that had all but swallowed him by this point, which he accepted, and soon they were both back to standing, Hermann having retrieved his cane on his way back up. 

Newt set at picking the hay off of the other man quickly, and Hermann used his own free hand to do the same for Newt. 

“Might I ask when I can see you again?” said Newt quietly as they worked at hiding the evidence of their brief liaison. 

“I suspect, if your friend has accepted my own companion, that we shall being staying at Bolton for the majority of the time before the wedding, after which I shall return to Summerworth with hopefully you by my side,” said Hermann, only looking up to meet Newt’s eyes as he said the last few words of his sentence. 

Newt smiled warmly at his lover once their gazes met, “I’ll make certain of it.”

“ _Newton! Mr. Gottlieb!”_ Mako’s voice rang clearer now, as she apparently approached the barn. 

“How do I look?” asked Hermann once it seemed as though Newt and he had entirely rid each other of stray hay.

“Almost perfect,” said Newt as he brought his hands up to fix the other man’s crooked collar. “There,” he said, once it was straight. “Perfect.” 

Hermann smiled softly, blushing at the other man’s words. “As are you.”

Newt felt his heart flutter at the other man’s words, and leaned in to place one last kiss on his cheek as Mako’s voice continued to get louder and nearer. “We’d better get back to them, then.”

Hermann was quiet for a moment as he looked wistfully at the other man. “Right,” he said, as his eyes lingered for another second on Newt’s lips. 

Newt led the way, Hermann following close behind, as they left the old barn. 

They turned the corner of the barn once they were outside, and Mako spotted them almost immediately. “Where have you lot been, then?” she asked, ushering them in the direction of the house. Newt noticed that her eyes seemed brighter than they had in months, her smile large and brilliant. 

“I was just introducing him to the horses,” said Newt, passing a glance at the man behind him. Hermann only gave him a knowing smile before looking back in the direction of the house. 

Mako shot Newt a quizzical glance as soon as Hermann had looked away. Newt simply shrugged, to which Mako just raised her eyebrows and continued heading inside. 

Soon, they’d reentered the Bridewater house and were back in the parlour, where the Marshal remained in the same chair he’d occupied prior, a pleased expression on his face, and Becket stood before the mantle, his hands held behind his back but his smile sparkling. Newt almost returned the contagious grin, until he remembered that he was supposed to be feigning ignorance of what news he suspected they were about to tell him. 

Sure enough, once they were in the room, Mako went to stand next to the beaming gentleman at the fireplace, Newt noticing that she took his hand in hers. Becket’s fingers seemed to grasp hers tightly, desperately, as if he feared ever having to let go. 

“We’ve already told Father,” began Mako, the words bubbling from her chest like an overfilled champagne flute. Newt saw her fingers squeeze around Becket’s as she spoke. “But we wanted to tell you while we were still together, seeing as you’re practically family.” 

She didn’t need to say anything else, as Newt could hold it in no longer, bounding up beside her and beaming. “Oh, Mako,” said Newt, unable to hide his happiness anymore. “I am so glad to hear it.” 

Mako’s face glowed as she looked upon her closest friend. “Father has given his permission already, of course,” she said, her joy radiating from her entire being. “We’re to be married in late September.”

Newt felt his own eyes widen at the news. Not the part where she revealed that the Marshal had allowed it; that had been no surprise to learn. No, the bit where they were to be married in just a short month. 

“So soon?” said Newt, the realization that this meant he and Mako were to be separated so quickly. He knew that he, too, had plans for his future, as secret as they were from most of the rest of the party, but that aspect hadn’t quite dawned on him yet. 

Mako smiled, nodding. “We both want a summer wedding, while everyone is still in the country, and our window is quickly disappearing.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” said Newt, nodding, and though he was only just now coming to terms with the fact that he was, for the first time in nearly a decade, to be permanently separated from his closest friend, he also knew in the forefront of his mind that that meant that he and Hermann could be united sooner than he’d thought. “I’m just so happy for you,” said Newt, meaning it in all ways. He turned his head to look up at Becket, who still looked as though he’d gotten the best news in the world, and Newt suspected that he had. “And for you, as well.”

Becket’s cheeks went slightly red as Newt spoke to him. “Thank you,” said Becket, his earnesty clear in his voice. 

“As am I,” said Hermann from the edge of the room, speaking for the first time since entering. He had a warm grin across his own face as he walked towards his companion, shaking his free hand. “I suspect that you two will be very happy with each other.” 

“Quite,” said the Marshal, breaking his own silence. Newt turned to look at him; he remained sitting, but his face had lost its usual guardedness and had been overtaken by an expression of pure, disarmed pride as he looked at the happy couple before him. 

They all lingered for a while in the parlour, Newt and Mako discussing wedding plans while Hermann, Becket, and the Marshal spoke about the plans for Bolton. To no surprise from the eavesdropping Newt, it seemed as though Becket intended to stay in town permanently, despite his earlier uncertainty. He had a suspicion as to what the reason behind the sudden change was, but he was glad to know that Mako would be able to remain so close to her father. Perhaps Newt might even get a glimpse at that library someday. 

After nearly half an hour had passed, Becket and Hermann revealed that they had business to attend to in town and must depart. Newt couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the news that they weren’t staying for dinner but tried to stifle it, knowing inside that it wouldn’t be long before he could see the pair again. 

They were about to part out the parlour door when suddenly Hermann stopped and put his hand in his pocket, appearing as though he were rummaging around in it for something that he couldn’t find. 

“Wait,” he said towards Becket who’d already set down the hall. “I appear to have misplaced my pocket watch,” he explained, looking towards Newt. “It was likely on our walk earlier. Might you come help me look for it for a moment?”

Newt didn’t need it written out on the walls for him to understand what was happening. “You know, I believe I might even remember exactly where you might have dropped it,” he said quickly, getting to his feet and joining the other man in the door. 

“We can come help look,” offered Mako from the other side of the room, but Newt quickly shook his head. 

“There’s no need, it'll only be a moment,” he said, directing the other man down the hallway.

“We’ll meet outside,” said Hermann towards Becket before heading off after Newt. 

Once they were outside, Newt dragged Gottlieb by the arm towards the south side of the house, pulling him behind the large, unkempt shrubberies that entirely obscured them from view. 

Neither wasted a second speaking before pulling the other towards them, embracing in one last hungry kiss before they had to part. Newt placed his hand on the other man’s waist, pulling him closer, as Hermann swung his free arm above the other man’s shoulder, tangling his fingers in his brunette locks. 

Newt pushed the other man against the stone wall, pressing his own body against him forcefully as he continued their kiss. Hermann groaned at the motion, tightening his grip on Newt’s hair. 

“Don’t leave,” said Newt, his voice muffled by the other man’s lips pressed against his. 

“Won’t be long,” hummed the other man into his mouth. 

“Better not.”

Newt broke apart from the other man’s lips after a few passionate moments, though kept his body held tight against his as they leaned into the wall. He panted as he pressed his forehead against the other man’s, feeling the heat of his skin melting into his as he closed his eyes. 

Hermann’s grip loosened on Newt’s loose curls, and now he gently cupped the other man’s head in his hand, thumbs massaging the skin behind Newt’s ear. 

“I love you,” said Newt softly, the words leaving his mouth before he even realized it. _There it was._

Newt felt the other man’s breathing hitch against his chest as the words fell from his lips, and then Hermann was pressing his mouth against Newt’s once more, desperately and impatiently, and Newt couldn’t help but fall into the kiss. 

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve yearned to hear those words leave your lips,” said Hermann breathlessly once they’d parted. Newt opened his eyes to look into the other man’s, seeing his own longing reflected in his gaze. 

“I do,” said Newt, taking his hand and pressing a long kiss to it. “ _Most ardently,"_ he recited with a wink, to which Hermann blushed. 

“Oh, you’re _funny,"_ said the other man dryly, though he pressed a long, tender kiss against the Newt’s cheek. “They’re bound to be missing us,” he continued, looking past Newt towards the lawn behind them. “And this might be rather difficult to explain if they come looking for us and find us in this state.” 

Newt kept the other man pressed against the wall despite the good point he made. “You have to say it back,” stated Newt, leaving a kiss on the other man’s temple. 

“As you have already alluded to, I said it first,” reminded Hermann with an eyebrow raised coyly. 

"Now, that's not quite right," recalled Newt. “You wrote it first; I said it first.” 

“And you have the audacity to call _me_ the contrarian.” 

“I’m not wrong, and you know it,” said Newt, refusing to let the man leave, though Hermann put up little effort on his own behalf. 

_"Fine,"_ laughed Hermann, surrendering. “I _love_ you, Newton Geiszler, from now until forever.”

“Much better,” said Newt, finally allowing Gottlieb to be free once more. “Now, did you find your watch?”

Hermann rolled his eyes, though he still smiled as he pulled it from his pocket. “I have indeed, all thanks to your service.” 

“Don’t mention it,” said Newt, as he pressed one last kiss against Hermann’s lips and guided him out from behind the shrubbery. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy this most recent update, sorry that it's been a few days since the last batch of chapters but I hope this makes up for it! <3 Can't believe we've only got four chapters left! 
> 
> As always, much love to everyone who's read, commented, and left kudos! If you're enjoying the story and want to hear me ramble about it and Newmann on other platforms, you can find me at newtgeiszlur.tumblr.com!


	22. Laundry

That same day, after dinner had passed and evening settled, Newt and Mako found themselves cross-legged facing each other on Newt’s bed. A deck of cards was spread out on the quilt before them and each held a few in their hands. Newt had long discarded his stiff jacket and shoes and sat in only his socks, trousers, and shirt, while Mako herself had already taken down her hair and had changed into her nightdress upstairs. 

“It seems odd to think of you as a married woman,” said Newt as he took a sip of the half-tea, half-whiskey they’d been sharing, studying his cards. 

Mako laughed while she pulled a card from her hand and set it down before her. “Not for another month’s time.” 

Newt handed her their teacup. “You’d be surprised at how quickly a month can pass.”

Mako smiled thoughtfully as she brought it to her lips. “Perhaps I wouldn’t mind if it did.” 

Newt laughed. “Nor I.”

Mako shot him a quizzical glance as she turned to look at him. “Really? That desperate to get away from me so quickly?” 

“Oh, yes,” said Newt, very seriously. “I’ve found my treatment here at Bridewater to be _entirely_ unacceptable and will be absolutely headed out to the most distant mountains of the Americas as soon as I’m finished.” 

Mako nodded, handing the china back to Newt. “I shall remind Mrs. Dramouth to pack you two cheese sandwiches, rather than just one, when you do decide to make that trek.” 

“It’s the very least you could do.”

“I daresay the _most._ And I do believe it’s your turn, you old cow.” 

“Right,” said Newt, looking down to study his cards when suddenly he heard someone knock against his open door. He looked up, seeing Rose standing there with a woven basket full of laundry against her hip. 

“Sorry for intruding,” she started, though Mako cut her off. 

“Nonsense,” she said, smiling at the other woman across the room. “Sit down and join us, we can start over with three players.” 

Rose smiled, but shook her head. “I think I’ll likely be heading to bed soon, if you don’t mind,” she said. When Mako nodded, Rose turned to look at Newt. “I noticed that you’d forgotten your clothes on the washing line and there’s a storm coming tonight, or so says Langston, so I thought I’d bring them in for you.” With this, she handed the basket of laundry to Newt, who only just now realized that it was full of his own clothes. 

“Rose!” he exclaimed, touched at the thoughtfulness. “Thank you,” he said, looking up from his laundry to smile at her. 

She smiled back, nodding. “You can give me the basket back in the morning,” she said before bidding them goodnight and heading towards her own room. 

Newt set the basket on the wooden chair in the corner of his room, taking out the dry shirts and trousers to fold and put away. Mako got up now to help, taking one of Newt’s white shirts out of the basket. As she did so, a small piece of purple fabric slid out from the folds of the garment, descending gently to the floor. Newt went to snatch it before Mako could but was too late; she’d already bent down and grabbed it. 

She held the lavender handkerchief in her hands, curiously examining the orchid blossom and the dainty orange and pink butterfly that were stitched into the corner. “This is rather pretty,” mused Mako as she studied it, looking up briefly to catch Newt’s worried eyes. “I don’t think I’ve seen this before.”

“Really?” said Newt, feigning surprise, though he could tell with one glance that Mako didn’t buy it for a second.

Mako looked closer at the embroidery in the corner, finally spotting the small _H.G._ that was stitched in orange beside the blossom. “Whose is this, Newton?”

Newt tried desperately to come up with a good excuse for having it on the spot, but failed tremendously. His face flushed red as he tried to come up with a reason, which he knew Mako was all too aware of. 

“As far as I know,” started Mako slowly, glancing back and forth between Newt’s red face and the lavender handkerchief, “there’s only one person that we know who has these particular initials, but I’m struggling to find a reason for you to have his handkerchief.” 

“He left it this morning,” lied Newt, miserably, “and I just happened to find it, and thought I’d wash it before returning it.”

Mako looked at him with an unamused expression on her face, an eyebrow raised skeptically. “Now, don’t try that. You and I both know that you certainly haven’t had the time to both do your laundry and hang it out to dry in just the few short hours since they’ve left, and seeing that you’ve spent almost all of those hours _with_ me, it’s nearly impossible. _So,_ I’m going to ask you again, and I pray you answer me honestly this time, or I’ll have to wrestle it out of you: why do you have Mr. Gottlieb’s handkerchief?”

“I was going to tell you, really, but I wanted you to be able to enjoy your own good news for at least the day -”

_“Newton!”_

_“Okay!_ Okay, fine. Here it is -”

“And from the beginning, please.”

_“Fine.”_

* * *

Mako simply stared at him, wide-eyed, for another moment, before speaking for the first time in nearly half an hour. “You and _Gottlieb?”_

Newt nodded. “That’s right.” 

Mako only blinked at him as she visibly searched for the words to say. Halfway through Newt’s spiel, she’d sat back down on the edge of Newt’s bed, the handkerchief that she’d held in her hands had long fallen to the floor, forgotten in the midst of all that had just been revealed. Newt bent down now to pick it up, tucking it into his back trouser pocket. 

“You could’ve told me that you intended to run off with Tendo, or Cheung, or hell, even _Chuck_ and I wouldn’t have batted an eye,” said Mako, breaking her silence. “But, _really?_ It’s _Gottlieb,_ the true object of your fancies? Your darling and beloved?” 

Newt rolled his eyes, feeling his cheeks begin to burn. “You needn’t make it sound so teeth-rottingly sentimental, but. I suppose, yes.” 

Mako let out a deep breath. “Is there any more of that tea left?” she finally said, and Newt laughed before handing the not-yet-empty teacup back to her. She finished the contents in one gulp.

“And you’re truly happy about this, then?” she said, slowly, looking carefully into Newt’s eyes, though by her tone, Newt could tell that what she _really_ meant was, _“You haven’t been secretly kidnapped and brainwashed or anything in our time apart, correct?"_

“I really am happy,” said Newt, softly, matching Mako’s gaze and hoping that she could see the honesty in his face. “Perhaps happier than I’ve ever been in my entire life, and I’m even happier to know that I needn’t keep it secret from you any further.” 

Mako studied him for another second, before finally it seemed as though she couldn’t help but believe that he was sincere, and then she smiled, taking his hands in hers. 

“Well, then,” she laughed, “I perhaps cannot pretend to understand your particular… _choice_ at this moment, though perhaps with time I might. But, for now, so long as you what you have told me is true, I must say that I am happy for you, too, then.”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” said Newt, taking a seat next to Mako on the bed. “At moments, even I don’t fully comprehend how I got from detesting this man to feeling as though I cannot bear to be without him. I mean, I used to believe that he was just so _arrogant_ ,” he continued, with a weak laugh, “and perhaps, sometimes he is, and maybe it’s true that he always says the absolute wrong thing in nearly every instance, and that he sometimes lets reason and judgement cloud his feelings, but I can’t help it, Mako.” 

“You love him,” she interjected, saying it not as a question but as a statement, a declaration, as if that were the answer to everything that Newt had just said. 

“I do,” laughed Newt, feelings his shoulders relax. “I love him, Mako.”

Mako smiled warmly at him. “I suppose I see why you’re so eager to see me married off, then,” she said cheekily, nudging him with her elbow.

“Don’t mistake my happiness about both of our futures to mean that I’m not already mourning the loss of your persistent company,” clarified Newt, elbowing Mako back. 

“I don’t suppose it’ll be that bad,” said Mako, thoughtfully, “seeing as we’re both to be partnered off with close friends. We’ll probably be allowed to see as much of each other as would ever be possible, excluding a dim reality where you and I are stuck in a dusty London apartment as old maids ‘til we’re grey in the face.” 

Newt laughed, though he considered her words seriously. She was right, really; few other outcomes for their future would promise their continued friendship as much as this one did. “That’s a happy thought,” said Newt, sincerely. 

Mako smiled, leaning her head against Newt’s shoulder. “It seems as though the Bridewater children have all grown up.”

Newt leaned his own head against hers. “I know what you mean.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps the shortest chapter in the whole fic, but never fear: two of the next three are some of the longest :)


	23. With This Ring

_September 1813_

And so the month had passed with such quickness that Newt hardly saw it fly by, and in the midst of all the preparing and packing and inviting and deciding that had to be done, suddenly there they were, in the old Sladehall End chapel, surrounded by enormous bouquets of blue and white flowers and sheer, diaphanous fabrics draped all around the pews. The sun poured in through the large stained-glass windows that overlooked the altar, leaving brilliant multicolored reflections on the happy couple that stood before the local minister. It seemed as if the entirety of Sladehall End had shown up for the wedding, as every pew was full and some had even had to resort to standing in the back of the hall. 

Newt sat beside Rose and Langston in one of the center pews, watching as Becket stood facing Mako, taking his right hand in hers. While Becket wore crisp black trousers and a luxurious royal blue jacket, Mako was adorned in a simple, yet elegant white gown, tied in the back with a ribbon in the same rich blue. Though Mako’s face was obscured by her bonnet, Newt could see Becket gazing adoringly down at her as the minister read from the Book of Common Prayer. 

"I, Raleigh Becket, take thee _,_ Mako Mori, to be my wedded wife,” recited Becket carefully after the minister, “to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

As Mako repeated the words, Newt’s eyes wandered towards Hermann and Karla, who stood beside the couple at the altar. Hermann had been an obvious choice for Becket’s best man, and when Karla had arrived for the wedding preparations and immediately hit it off with Mako, it only made sense to have her up there, as well. 

Karla had been thrilled, and still looked it, as she beamed at the couple from beside them, clutching her small bouquet of baby’s breath and cornflowers close to her chest. Hermann, on the other hand, seemed to have difficulty focusing on the task before him, as he continuously met Newt’s eye throughout the ceremony. Not that Newt was doing a particularly good job at _not_ distracting him, to be fair. 

They’d hardly had a moment alone in the past few weeks, having spent most of their time with the family and friends of the couple. It had been excruciating for Newt, only being able to enjoy the intimate company of his lover in short, fleeting moments, but the knowledge that soon it would all be over and he’d have nothing left to do but spend time with Hermann had helped push him through it. As Hermann’s gaze left the couple once more to meet Newt’s, Newt winked at his wandering eye, which brought a smile to his face as they both looked back at Mako and Becket. It was a good thing, too, as in that moment the minister turned to Hermann, hand outsplayed. 

“And now, for the ring,” said the minister in his deep, groveling voice, and Hermann reached hastily into his pocket, producing a small gold circle whose shine Newt could see even in his distant seat. The minister accepted the ring, handing it to Becket who allowed it to fall into his hand.

Newt could see the outline of Becket swallowing as he pinched the ring between his two fingers, bringing Mako’s hand up towards his chest. Though Newt could plainly see his nervous reddened complexion, he could also see the gleam of his eyes that said that he’d never been more ready for something in his entire life. 

“With this ring I thee wed,” said Becket, slowly, “with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” As he recited the last few words, he slid the ring gently onto Mako’s finger. 

With this, Mako’s bonnet slid slightly further back in her hair, revealing her beaming face as Becket put the ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. Her smile was contagious and Newt couldn’t help but mirror her as he felt his own chest fill with happiness. 

Once the ring was firmly settled on Mako’s finger, the happy couple knelt down, and the minister began to lead the chapel in prayer. Newt closed his eyes and clasped his hands as he listened to him ramble on about perfect love and whom God hath joined together, though he struggled to pay much attention. After a few moments of attempted concentration, Newt felt the urge to glance in the direction of the altar; sure enough, as soon as he peeked up at the scene before him, he caught Hermann doing the same, only he stared at Newt plainly. As soon as their eyes met, Newt glimpsed a shy smile flutter across Hermann’s cheeks as he hurriedly pretended to focus once more. 

* * *

The wedding guests had all left the church after the newlyweds had signed the marriage registry, and had now gathered inside Bridewater for the traditional wedding breakfast.

With the exception of Mrs. Dramouth, the rest of the Bridewater staff had been allowed the day off to partake in the festivities, with staff members from Bolton taking their places in serving and clearing. Though the Marshal had offered to give Mrs. Dramouth a break from the cooking as well, she’d insisted upon staying in the kitchen, rather than allow the Bolton cook take her place. Newt hadn’t been terribly surprised by the refusal to hand over the reins for such a big event, though her competitive nature made him chuckle. 

Free from any domestic duties himself, Newt fraternized amongst the familiar faces of Sladehall End residents and friends of the families, feeling once more as if everyone he’d ever known had shown up for the event. At present, he saw the Hansens chatting with the Longshires, and Miss Ainsworth laughing merrily at something that young Isolda Morevan had said. He debated joining either of their conversations until he spotted Rose by the punch bowl, pouring herself a glass of the peach-colored liquid, and decided to join her. 

She saw him as he approached, smiling widely as he saddled up next to her. “Want one?” she asked, gesturing towards the punch, to which Newt nodded eagerly. She poured out a second glass for him, which he gladly accepted before they both stepped off to the side.

From across the sitting room, Newt could see Mako and Raleigh joined by the hand as they spoke with various guests, each of them beaming as they mingled amongst their friends. Mako simply radiated joy, which Newt found to be entirely infectious as he felt his lips twitching into a happy smile at the mere sight. 

Only a short distance further, Karla and Hermann mingled as well, their arms hooked at the elbow. Karla still grinned from ear-to-ear as she chatted, and Hermann smiled warmly in his own way; though his mouth was closed, it stretched across his face, the pink of his lips accented by the rosy hue of his cheeks. It took all Newt could muster to not bolt across the room and take him in his arms, placing a thousand kisses on his adorable cheeks; however, he refrained. 

“They’re just so handsome, aren’t they?” sighed Rose from beside Newt as she took a sip of her punch. “Like something from a story book.”

It took Newt a moment to realize she meant Becket and Mako. “Very,” agreed Newt as he watched the couple work the room. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen her look happier.”

“I hope that we should all someday be as happy,” she mused. 

“Perhaps we all shall,” said Newt, smiling at his fellow servant. “Are you ready to set off for Bolton, then?”

Rose nodded, turning from her fixed gaze on the newlyweds to face Newt. “I’ll be heading off right after this reception. We brought over most of my belongings yesterday, so I only need to grab my few remaining things and then it’ll be as if I’d lived at Bolton all my life.”

“Do you think you’ll find yourself as happy there as you did here?” asked Newt, thinking about his own upcoming move. He was to set off later the same afternoon, with Hermann and the ladies, and the closer it approached, the more nervous he seemed to feel about the change. 

Rose smiled warmly, oblivious to Newt’s inner apprehensions. “Very much so,” she assured him. “Have you seen the house? It’s more impressive than anything I’ve ever laid eyes on.” 

“Only from the outside,” said Newt, remembering that he really needed to get in there sometime to _finally_ see that library. “But that’s not what I mean, really.”

Rose raised a blonde brow at him. “What do you mean, then?”

“I mean, do you think you’ll be as happy with Mr. Becket and the other servants there, as you were with the Marshal and us lot here?” 

“Oh,” said Rose, her smile reflecting her understanding. “I do, actually. Mr. Becket has been nothing but amiable towards me and the servants have all been kind enough, so far as I’ve seen. It’s a much bigger staff, given the size of the house, and I know there are other young women employed there so perhaps I might even feel more comfortable. Not that I was ever lacking in friends here, between you and Miss Mori,” she added, eyes flicking back up to catch Newt’s expression. “But I suspect that I shall do just fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Newt, returning her smile so that she knew he took no offense. 

“Are you nervous about your upcoming employment in Taernsby, then?” asked Rose tentatively, studying Newt’s expression. 

_Right._ That’s what he’d told them all, excluding Mako and Tendo, regarding his nearing plans to move to Summerworth. 

“Somewhat,” said Newt honestly, lowering his voice so that none of the other members of the room might overhear him. “I’ve only ever held the position of a tutor, and to be moving on to something else, somewhere else, is a bit… nerve-wracking.” He longed to tell her the truth, that he wasn’t about to be taking on a position but rather an entirely new life, though even Newt himself wasn’t exactly sure what his new position in life really was. But, he couldn't, and certainly not right here and now.

Rose cast him a compassionate glance and a comforting smile. “You’re so clever, Newton. Whatever they throw at you, I’m sure you’ll pick it up in no time.” 

Newt smiled back halfheartedly. He hoped that were true. 

Suddenly, a pair of hands covered his eyes and the room momentarily turned black. 

“Have you been straying again, my darling?” a low voice purred into his ear, and Newt recognized it instantly. 

“Tendo! You’re here!” laughed Newt as he pulled the other man’s hands off his eyes and turned to face him. Tendo grinned back at him, the ever-present glimmer of mischief in his eyes. He wore his nicest suit, a simple black number paired with a soft blue button-up. Between that, Newt’s own modest tailcoat, and Rose’s pretty floral dress, the three of them rather looked the impressive trio. 

“The lovely Miss Mori was kind enough to extend an invitation,” explained Tendo, his eyes wandering around the room. “I had to miss the ceremony itself but I’d heard that there’d be free drink after and couldn’t resist.” Finally his eyes settled on the punch bowl just a few feet away, and his face lit up even further. He excused himself with a raised finger as he sauntered towards the drink. 

Rose laughed good-naturedly at the other servant, taking a sip from her own glass. 

“He’s always like that,” explained Newt. 

Rose looked as if she might say something, when suddenly something across the room caught her eye and caused her to pause. Newt tried to follow her eyes, but saw nothing. 

“What is it?” asked Newt quietly, his brow furrowing slightly at his companion’s changed demeanor. 

“I think there’s someone outside,” said Rose softly, her eyes locked on the window. 

Newt opened his mouth to remind her that it was a party and there might be guests simply getting some fresh air, when suddenly he saw what she meant as a blur of red moved past the other window across the room. He recognized it instantly to be a military jacket, though he could see nothing else. No one else in the room seemed to have noticed the passing figure besides the two of them. 

_Was it Cheung?_ he wondered, though he had the impression that there was only one figure outside, not three, and he couldn’t come up with any reason that the soldier would have stopped by without his brothers, particularly when he knew for a fact that they’d departed town in August. 

Perhaps it was someone else, then? 

But _who?_

“I see,” said Newt, eyes intently watching the window as Tendo joined them once more. 

The other man immediately noticed their changed expressions, his own head cocking in interest at their fixed gazes. “Did I miss a ghost, then? Or did King George pop by for a spell?” 

Newt shook his head, turning to look at Tendo though carefully watching the window from the corner of his eye. “There’s someone outside. Looks like militia. And we’re not sure why.” 

Tendo’s forehead creased as he listened to Newt’s few words. “Right now, you mean?” 

Newt rolled his eyes. “ _Obviously,_ right now.” 

“Why would there be militia here, when the regiment left last month? Is someone in trouble, then?”

“If I knew the answer to that, do you think I’d be so concerned?”

Tendo’s lips pursed as he looked out the window that Rose still stared at. “Well, should we tell someone?” 

Newt shook his head gently, feeling a rare bravery forming in his chest. “I think I might just need to handle this alone,” he said quietly. Turning to Rose, “Can you try and keep Mako and everyone else from looking out that window?”

Rose gulped, nodding. “The best I can, yes.” 

Newt nodded. “Draw the curtain, if need be. Make up any excuse. And Tendo, you follow me and guard the door so that no one might follow me while I investigate this.” 

Tendo quickly agreed, and then the pair of them discreetly headed into the corridor, passing Hermann and Karla on their way out of the room. Despite Newt’s best efforts to appear as casual as possible, Hermann seemed to immediately recognize that something was off in his demeanor and excused himself from his sister and Lady Corrigan, whom he’d been conversing with, to follow the two of them down the empty hallway. 

Newt paused to let him catch up, which the other man did momentarily. He couldn’t help but feel glad to see his face.

“Is everything all right?” asked Hermann, carefully studying the uneasy expression on Newt’s face. 

“I’m not entirely sure myself,” said Newt honestly, quickly filling the gentleman in on what he and Rose had observed. Hermann nodded slowly as he spoke, his lips turning into a slight frown.

“I’d better go out with you,” said Hermann, less as an offer and more as a demand, and Newt felt his heart flutter at the other man’s protectiveness. 

“I’d like that,” said Newt, the corner of his lip curving into a grateful smile, and Hermann smiled back, his expression warming. 

“Might we pause the flirting and get back to the task at hand?” sighed Tendo from ahead of them, starting to walk towards the door once more. 

Neither Newt nor Hermann said anything, instead just following the other man down the hall. Soon enough, they arrived at the front entrance, which was fortunately empty as well, and Tendo began his guard shift and the other two exited into the warm afternoon sun. 

Newt led the way, knowing which window he’d seen the mysterious figure through, while Hermann walked close by his side. He carefully avoided looking too suspicious, lest anyone peer out the window and see him skulking while he sought out the perplexing visitor. 

As they neared the window where Newt had glimpsed him, his eyes quickly caught a figure in a red military jacket and white trousers tucked into tall leather boots who leaned against the stone wall of the house, out of view from the persons inside. 

It was certainly not Cheung or either of his brothers; that much was certain right away. 

The man appeared only a few inches taller than Newt, as well as a good few years younger than him. He had short, cropped hair that stopped right above his ears, and dark brown skin; at present, he looked down at his fiddling thumbs, his teeth biting at his lower lip as he appeared deep in thought. He didn’t seem to have noticed Newt and Hermann as they approached him, and rather than startle him, Newt tried to call out gently to gain his attention. 

“Um, hello,” he said, walking towards the anonymous man, careful to duck when he neared the windows. “Are you here for the party?” 

The man’s head lifted, acknowledging the two approaching men for the first time. “Oh, hello,” he said quickly, standing up straighter. Uncertainty flickered across his face as Newt extended a hand to greet him, though he accepted it. “I’m… not sure. I believe I’m looking for a, umm…” 

The man dropped Newt’s hand, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a wrinkled piece of parchment. He unfolded it, his eyes scanning over the words until he found what he sought. “Is there a Newton Geiszler that I can speak to?”

Newt hesitated, caught entirely off guard. Hermann, too, seemed surprised by the announcement, turning to look at Newt curiously. 

“Oh,” he said, collecting himself to the best of his ability, though he was suddenly even more confused than he had been just moments prior. “That would be me, I guess, though I’m not sure what business we have together, if I’m being honest.” 

The other man allowed himself a small, nervous laugh, shrugging slightly. “Perhaps you better just read this,” he said quietly, handing the paper to Newt before turning to look back at the ground. 

Newt accepted the parchment, and upon glancing at it, quickly realized that it was a letter. 

_May the twenty-first, 1813._

_Jacob,_

_I do hope that this reaches you. I only vaguely remembered the name of your field marshal, and have sought to find out where you were stationed. I pray that I was correct, as I feel as though the information I hold might be of great interest to you._

_When we met previously, I recall you mentioning that you were raised by your late mother in London, and that you’d never known your father, believing that he had passed soon after your birth, though you have never been able to find any record in the obituaries of his demise. I understand as well that your mother gave you your father’s family name, despite his absence in your life from an early age._

_You see, my own regiment is, as of late, stationed in Sladehall End, a rural yet prosperous town in northern England. Recently, my brothers and I have befriended a young woman who, though adopted herself, has stated that her father’s name is the same as yours, and that he is currently living._

_Perhaps it is nothing, or perhaps it is something. Though I have little other proof that there is any relation between you, something has nagged at me since learning of it that has not allowed me to continue on without writing to you and informing you of my recent findings._

_I do pray that this information is useful, rather than the contrary, but I simply could not rest until I knew that I’d done my part and informed you. I hope that you and your company are all well, and that perhaps we might encounter each other once more, but until then, I leave you to do with this information what you’d like. I’ve not disclosed your existence to the presence of the family, in the case that you decide not to investigate, but if you do, I recommend seeking out one of their servants, a man named Newton Geiszler, who I can assure you is trustworthy._

_Good luck._

_Your friend,_

_Pvt. Cheung Wei_

Newt hadn’t realized that his mouth hung open until he read the last few words of the letter and found that he could not lower his jaw any further towards the ground. Hermann had read the letter over his shoulder, and as he finished, turned to look at Newt, eyes wide in confusion. 

“You’re Marshal Pentecost’s son?” said Newt bluntly, turning to look at the man who he now knew to be Jacob. “It’s you? And you’re here, standing right in front of me?”

Jacob’s brow raised quizzically at Newt’s words. “He does have a son, then? Your employer, I mean. And you’re aware of it?”

Newt took a deep breath, nodding. “Not from him so much, but second hand, yes.” He could feel Hermann’s eyes burning a hole in the side of his head as he gaped at Newt, entirely confused. Newt couldn’t blame him; had it not been for his one brief conversation with Mako when they’d thought that the Marshal was dying, he would be in a similar state. However, despite the fact that he’d somewhat known that there was a young Pentecost man wandering around somewhere on the planet, he certainly hadn’t expected _this._ Not right _now._

Fucking _hell,_ Cheung. A bit of a heads up might’ve been appreciated.

“The letter is dated in May,” said Hermann abruptly from beside the dumbfounded Newt. “It’s nearly October in a week.”

Jacob nodded. “It didn’t reach me until July; he got the town wrong, despite his best efforts, I suppose. Then, I just sat on it, thinking about what to do, and then I saw it in the papers. ‘Lately, Raleigh Becket, son of so-and-so, esquire to Miss Mako Mori, ward of Marshal Stacker Pentecost, in Sladehall End,’ et cetera, et cetera,” he paraphrased, before taking a deep sigh. “And so I asked around and figured out where on earth Sladehall End was, and then where the Pentecosts resided, and… I don’t know. For some reason I got it in my head that it would be a good time to perhaps, I don’t know, pop in, but now that I’m here, it all seems rather ridiculous.”

Newt watched as apprehension flashed across the man’s deep brown eyes, and Newt suddenly felt the urge to help him. “It’s not, I promise,” said Newt softly, handing the letter back to the other man. 

The younger Pentecost’s forehead creased as he accepted the letter, returning it to his pocket. “Perhaps I better come back another time, when the family is less preoccupied,” began Jacob, glancing towards the window with the corner of his eye. 

Newt opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly he heard Tendo’s voice calling from the entrance. He turned to face him, seeing the other man’s head peeking out of the open doorway a short distance away. 

“Is everything going fine out here, then?” asked Tendo, his gaze quickly finding the three figures beside the sitting room window. 

Newt nodded, giving the man a confident smile that they were handling it just fine. Rather than accept Newt’s attempt at reassurance, Tendo simply stuck his head out further, staring at Jacob with great interest. 

“So this is our mysterious visitor, then?” said Tendo, an eyebrow raising in their direction. 

Newt nodded. “Can you just get the Marshal out here? Alone, please?”

"And miss this fun, more than I already have?"

“ _Tendo,_ ” repeated Newt, his lips thinning into a perturbed frown. 

Tendo gave a defeated sigh before nodding and turning back inside, closing the door behind him. 

Newt went to face Jacob and Hermann once more. While Hermann looked just as lost as he had at the beginning of the conversation, Jacob looked as though he might bolt at any moment. “I really don’t know if this is a good idea,” he said quickly, eyes flickering towards the gravel drive that led away from Bridewater. 

“It is,” said Newt quickly, trying to offer the most reassuring smile that he could muster. 

Jacob hesitated, looking back at Newt with apprehension. “How do you know he wants to even see me?” said the younger man softly, his vulnerability thick in his voice, causing Newt’s heart to swell with an aching to reach out and comfort him, though he refrained. 

Newt took a short breath, eyes flitting between Jacob and Hermann. “You have to understand,” started Newt, voice trembling ever so slightly. “Your father treated me as his own when I was anything but; his kindness is something that I may never be able to repay, and I am neither his flesh nor blood, not even unofficially. Just a small, often ill-prepared servant.” He let out a small laugh. “And yet he never made me feel as such; rather, he seemed intent from early in my arrival to make me as much of a member of the family as he could. The Marshal is a very, _very_ good man who has been through a lot, particularly as of late, and I know that nothing would make him happier to see his own son. ”

Jacob said nothing for a moment, and Newt saw the faint outline of his throat swallowing from atop the collar of his military coat. From beside him, Newt could see Hermann’s expression, one that read equally of shock and wonder. 

“You should really stay,” continued Newt in a gentle voice, looking up at the anxious eyes of the Marshal’s son. “Just, trust me.” 

Jacob’s gaze lingered on his, and Newt watched as uncertainty mingled with hope across his wide, frightened eyes, and neither spoke for a moment. 

“Okay,” said Jacob finally, softly. “Okay.”

“You’ll wait and see him, then?” Newt couldn’t hide the enthusiasm in his voice, no matter how hard he tried, but it seemed to be no matter; for the first time since he’d arrived, Jacob looked not like a cornered rabbit but a wishful young man as a small smile allowed itself to be worn across his lips. _And a very handsome smile, at that._

“I will,” said Jacob quietly, nodding. “If you think it’s a good idea.” 

“I _promise_ it is,” said Newt with a newfound conviction.

The atmosphere remained quiet for the following few moments, as the young Pentecost straightened his coat, brushing the dust from the gravel road off his white trousers, but soon enough Newt heard the familiar sound of the Bridewater door opening. Turning around, he saw Tendo exit first, then hold the door open for the Marshal himself. Newt gestured for Jacob and Hermann to follow him as he walked towards the two other men. 

“Marshal, sir,” called Newt once Tendo had shut the door behind them.

The Marshal turned to look at Newt, a slightly confused expression across his face as he nodded in acknowledgement. It was only a second before his eyes trailed off behind Newt’s figure, passing over Hermann and instead locking on the young soldier behind them. 

“Hello again, Newton, Mr. Gottlieb,” said the Marshal slowly, walking down the front steps, the end of his cane thumping gently against the stone. “Might I ask who your friend is, then?” 

Newt and his party were only a few feet from the Marshal by now, and Newt found himself flanked on each side by his companions as they looked forward at the older gentleman. “Right,” said Newt, not entirely sure how to go about this. His eyes flicked up towards Tendo, who stood uncomfortably by the door still. He nudged his head subtly in the direction of the door, a hint which Tendo miraculously took as he saw himself inside, allowing the four others their privacy. 

“And?” said the Marshal, his eyebrow raised slightly in Newt’s direction as he smiled and nodded politely to the unfamiliar guest, and Newt suddenly felt very, very hot in the lingering September heat. 

“Um,” stammered Newt, still uncertain with how to proceed. “You see, this is, um - we found him, outside, you see, and I discovered that he’s, well -” 

“Jacob Pentecost, sir,” said the younger man from beside him, interrupting Newt’s undignified rambling. Newt turned quickly to face him, watching the bravery that took over the soldier’s face. “It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I believe I might potentially have a relation with yourself.” 

The Marshal’s face froze for a moment as he listened to the young man’s words, before it fell into an unreadable expression. 

“I see,” said the Marshal finally, taking a singular step closer towards the young man. Though he hadn’t necessarily seen it immediately, as the older man stood face-to-face with the young soldier, Newt saw the same gaze reflected in both of their eyes; a look that was striking, yet steady. Adept, yet kind. 

“Sir,” said Jacob softly, raising his hand to shake the Marshal’s, which the other man accepted. Neither spoke for a moment as they simply stared at one another, a strange familiarity flashing across each of their faces, like two great ships carved from the same ancient tree, who might’ve passed in the sea thousands of times but have only just now come to rest together. 

Suddenly Newt felt a hand press gently against his forearm; he turned to look behind his shoulder, his eyes meeting Hermann’s. “Perhaps we ought to give them some privacy,” said the other man quietly, tipping his head in the direction of the door. 

Newt said nothing, instead following the other man’s lead and reentering the Bridewater home; neither Jacob nor the Marshal said anything as they left, instead continuing to study one another in silence as Hermann and Newt closed the door behind them. 

Tendo and Rose had quickly sought them out once they’d reentered the sitting room, not-so-subtly pulling Newt off to the side to find out what had happened. Newt reassured them that all was well and there was nothing to worry about, though he hesitated to reveal the details of what had truly occurred, lest the two Pentecosts wish to keep their discovery of each other discreet for the moment. Neither Rose nor Tendo had been particularly thrilled by Newt’s vagueness, but finally accepted it for the time being.

Newt busied himself with mingling beside Hermann, so as to hopefully make up for the lost time inside. Though Mako had smiled at them as they’d reentered, she appeared deep in conversation with her new husband and the Hansens and didn’t seem too concerned by their brief absence, fortunately. 

Neither Newt nor Hermann spoke of what had just occurred for the next half of an hour that followed, instead pretending as if nothing had happened and playing the jolly wedding guests to the best of their abilities as they chatted with various partygoers. Occasionally they met each other’s gazes, and for a second Newt could see the shock and amazement that read in Hermann’s deep brown eyes, but then they’d look away again, feigning content, oblivious smiles as they fraternized. 

However, by the time the clock struck the hour, suddenly Newt heard two pairs of heavy footsteps coming down the corridor and couldn’t help but turn to face the entrance. Hermann had clearly heard the same thing, as his own head jerked to watch the hall. 

Soon enough, the Marshal appeared in the doorway with Jacob a few steps behind him, partially obscured by the older man’s larger form. A few other guests had nonchalantly turned to face the new entrants, but many hadn’t paid them any attention; they all recognized the Marshal, and there were plenty of strangers here to everyone that the arrival of one more didn’t surprise any but those few who were intimate enough with the Pentecost family to recognize an outsider when they saw one. 

It was for this reason that Mako herself did turn to face her father and the stranger behind him, her face drawing up into a confused expression as she tried to recognize the second man and failed. Newt watched as the Marshal gestured subtly for her to join them in the doorway, and Mako quietly did as directed, excusing herself from her husband and their other conversers. 

Once she was by his side, Newt saw as the Marshal leaned down towards her right ear, whispering something unknown into it as her eyes watched Jacob, widening as her father continued. 

As soon as the Marshal had finished, Mako drew back to look up in his eyes, astonishment clear across her face. She mouthed something towards her father that Newt couldn’t quite understand, but the Marshal nodded, the smallest of smiles allowing itself in the corner of his lips. Then, the Marshal took a step to the side, allowing Mako and Jacob to face one another for the first time.

Mako simply gaped at the younger man for a moment, her mind clearly processing whatever the Marshal had just said, and though he hadn’t heard him, Newt suspected he knew what she'd learned. Jacob himself looked as though he was holding his breath, as if he wasn’t quite sure what reaction he was about to get. 

Despite the shock she still wore on her face, she still curtsied towards Jacob, which he eagerly returned with a bow, and then both allowed themselves a shy smile, like children meeting for the first time. 

Though Newt was still a few feet away amidst the chattering partygoers, he did manage to hear the few quiet words that escaped Mako’s smiling lips. 

“Welcome home, dear brother.”

* * *

Though Jacob’s identity was told exclusively to only a few of the attending family members and close friends, like the Hansens, so as to not draw too much attention away from the celebration of Mako and Becket’s marriage, the younger man was still welcomed into the party eagerly. Newt watched as the soldier’s apprehensions seemed to dissipate with the warm greeting, and soon he saw him relaxing and blending in with the rest of the guests as he chatted away. Occasionally, Newt caught his glimpse from across the room, and as their eyes met Jacob’s face always seemed to melt into one of gratitude. When this happened, Newt would just smile back modestly, raising his glass in the other man’s direction, to which Jacob would suppress a smile and look back at whomever he was mingling with. 

Hours passed of the happy party, Newt going back and forth between his old and new friends, until the time came for guests to start heading home. Newt had an opportunity to say farewell to Tendo and Rose, whom he knew he wouldn’t see again for who knew how long, before they both set back to town to tend to their respective houses to await their arriving employers. Then, it was time for Mako and Becket themselves to leave and head for Bolton, which is how Newt found himself leaning in their newlywed’s carriage window, peering in at the happy couple before they set off for their new home together. 

“Rather been quite the day, huh?” said Becket with a tired but blissful smile, to which Newt gave a small laugh. 

“I believe that’d be an understatement.” 

Mako laughed as well as she looked fondly at her friend in the window. Newt had never seen her eyes look happier, but in her smile Newt could sense the smallest reflection of sadness. Without her saying a word, Newt could understand entirely what she was feeling. 

“I suppose you’re all set, then?” asked Newt, longing to say anything but goodbye. 

“I suppose we are.” 

None of them spoke for a moment, and Newt felt himself involuntarily gulping, a nervous movement which Mako clearly noticed as her expression turned warm yet wistful. 

She took Newt’s face in her two hands, cupping his cheeks as he held onto the carriage windowsill. “I’m afraid this will be the last time we see each other for a moment, Newton,” she said gently as she looked in the eyes of her old friend, and Newt felt a decades-worth of fondness emerging from his chest as she gazed affectionately at him.

Newt exhaled softly, feeling Mako’s hands against his cheeks, the cold touch of her new ring unfamiliar. “You make it sound so final,” he sighed, though still smiling. 

“Oh, don’t be so sad,” said Mako with a kind, gentle laugh, dropping her hands from Newt’s cheeks to ruffle his hair, though her own voice rang with a ting of sentimentality. “We’ll see each other again soon enough, I’m sure of it.” 

Newt lowered his head as she tousled his hair, letting out a small laugh. “Well, then,” he said, once she’d finished. “I suppose it’s farewell ‘til then.” 

“You’ll always know where to find us, Newton,” said Becket with a warm smile as he placed a hand on his new wife’s knee. Mako’s face brightened at the small act of affection, though her eyes still met Newt’s.

Newt smiled warmly at the two of them. “And you, the same.” 

“Be sure to write often,” said Mako earnestly as she looked fondly at her friend in the windowsill. 

“Every day,” promised Newt, though Mako raised her eyebrow slightly. 

“You mean every hour, correct?” she said very seriously, and Newt laughed, nodding. “Much better.” 

They were quiet for a moment, simply smiling at each other, until Newt remembered what it was that he was interrupting. 

“Well, I’d better let you head off, then,” he said after a moment’s hesitation, though he lingered in the window still. 

“Right,” agreed Mako with a faint sigh. “Well, then. ‘Til next time.”

Newt nodded, a small smile on his face. “‘Til next time.”

He had almost stepped down from the carriage footboard before he remembered one last thing. “Oh, I entirely forgot.”

“What?” asked Mako, tilting her head slightly as she glanced back at him once more. 

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Becket, by the way,” said Newt with a genuine smile, and both Mako and Becket grinned back. 

“Thank you, Newton,” laughed Mako, putting her own hand atop Becket’s in her lap. 

Newt gave the happy couple one last look before stepping down and returning to the outside world, though he couldn’t help the slight pang he felt in his chest as the horses began their walking and the carriage set off down the road. 

* * *

As Newt had done for all of Bridewater’s guests for almost ten years, he now stood outside the great house with the Marshal and all the servants that he’d come to know and grow fond of in the near-decade.

However, unlike all the other times, Newt stood with all his luggage and belongings on the opposite side of the Bridewater residents before the carriage that would soon be whisking him away. Hermann stood only a few feet behind him, Karla and Miss Ainsworth having already taken their seats in the carriage. 

Newt bit the inside of his cheek as he watched the coachman lift his trunk onto the back of the carriage. 

_This was it._

This was how the rest of his life was supposed to begin, then. 

He was happy, really. He’d waited for this moment for what felt like years, taking pleasure in every passing moment that meant that Summerworth was closer. However, here he was, ready to say goodbye to his unconventional family, and he was finding it harder than he’d thought it would be. 

Though he’d already said farewell to Mako and Rose earlier that afternoon, Newt still felt a tender fondness for the remaining stragglers that was making his final farewells rather difficult. 

“Well, don’t just stand there,” sighed Mrs. Dramouth dramatically, gesturing for Newt to come over. Newt managed to put a smile on his face, walking towards the small group of servants that gathered. With neither Newt nor Rose in their numbers, it was only Mrs. Dramouth, Langston, and the stablehands, though the latter didn’t look too particularly bothered by Newt’s departure as they chatted idly amongst themselves. 

Though she rolled her eyes before doing so, Mrs. Dramouth pulled Newt in for a tight, warm hug as soon as he was within reaching distance. Newt couldn’t help but laugh at the sweet gesture from the woman whom he caused a near-daily headache for since his arrival, and hugged her back. 

Mrs. Dramouth pulled away and looked at Newt, scowling as she noticed his crooked collar. “You’d better make sure you’re tidy at this next house, less they think we let you behave like wolves back here,” she lamented while straightening his collar, and though her expression was as sour as ever, Newt could hear the faintest fondness in her voice. 

“I’ll be certain of it, Mrs. Dramouth,” promised Newt, smiling at her as she pulled away. She assessed her work and nodded stiffly. 

“With you and the other two out of the nest, I don’t know who’ll be here to put the grey in her hair,” chuckled Langston from beside her, clasping Newt’s hand in his. 

Mrs. Dramouth raised her brow at the valet, who only smiled amiably in return. 

“I’m sure you’ll be able to help keep up our work in our absence,” laughed Newt, shaking the older man’s hand. Langston chuckled, nodding. 

“But none do it quite like you,” sighed Mrs. Dramouth, with a tight but affectionate smile. “Now, be sure to write to let us know that you haven’t burnt down the place trying to light a candle on your first day.” 

Newt couldn’t help but smile warmly back at the pair. “I’ll be sure of it,” he promised, and Mrs. Dramouth nodded, content with his answer. 

“Good,” she said, before both she and Langston bid him their final farewells and sent him down the line. 

Newt only had to wave goodbye to the stablehands, who just nodded and waved back before returning to their conversation, which suited Newt just fine. 

Finally, he arrived at the Marshal, who he dreaded to say goodbye to the most. The older man stood alone beside his servants, as Jacob and the Hansens remained inside, working to regain order in the Bridewater house once more after the morning’s festivities.

Though the Marshal leaned forward on his cane, he still stood high above Newt, and Newt had to look up to see the kind smile displayed on his gentle face. He couldn’t recall having ever seen such pride in the man’s eyes before, and chalked it up to the earlier events of the day; the marriage of one’s only daughter to an established gentleman _and_ the arrival of one’s only long-lost son would be enough to place a spark in anyone’s eyes, he figured. 

Newt spoke first. “I suppose this is goodbye, then, sir.” 

“I suppose it is.”

He could hear the vulnerability in his own voice and attempted to mask it, clearing his throat. “It’s been a good nine years, hasn’t it?” 

The Marshal nodded slowly, looking down into Newt’s eyes. “You’ve been of great service to our family during your time at Bridewater, and for that I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to thank you. I hope we’ve made your time worth it.” 

Newt could feel his cheeks burning at the Marshal’s words. “Immeasurably, sir,” he said, nodding quickly. 

The Marshal smiled softly, nodding in return. “I’m glad to hear of it.”

Both were quiet for a moment, while Newt blinked back the stinging sensation in his eyes. “Your family would be very proud to see how far you’ve come,” said the Marshal in a low, reassuring voice that made Newt’s chest tighten even further. “As am I.” 

Newt swallowed, hesitating for a moment. “Thank you, sir.” 

“I say it not to flatter you, but because it’s the truth,” said the Marshal, expression having grown serious as he looked down at Newt. 

Newt himself didn’t have the words to respond with, and instead just smiled as much as he could muster without letting any tears fall. 

“Mr. Gottlieb,” called the Marshal towards Hermann who still stood idly next to the carriage. As Newt turned to look, he saw Hermann’s startled expression at being summoned, though he acknowledged him. The Marshal continued. “Be good to this one.” 

Hermann nodded quickly. “I intend to.” 

The Marshal smiled at the gentleman before returning to Newt. “And you? Be good to him,” he instructed, though his voice had grown quieter so that only Newt might hear it. 

For a moment, Newt thought that perhaps, just possibly, the Marshal knew his true intentions in going to Summerworth; that it wasn’t just some “research” opportunity, but that he, like Mako, was setting off to join the love of his life. 

_No,_ he reminded himself; that was impossible. 

But, as he looked up at the Marshal and saw his knowing expression, he thought, _just maybe._

“I will, sir,” he said, meaning it, and the Marshal seemed to accept it. 

“Well, then,” said the Marshal, speaking at his normal volume once more. “We’ve all had a long day, and you’ve quite the journey ahead of you, so I’d better let you get to it.” 

Newt nodded, involuntarily gulping. The Marshal was right; it was nearing early evening, and they were already set to arrive at Summerworth late enough as it was. 

He sternly reminded himself not to cry as the Marshal moved his cane to one hand, using the newly freed one to take Newt’s in his. “I’m sure this won’t be our last goodbye, Newton,” said the Marshal, shaking his hand firmly. 

Newt nodded, furiously blinking back the welling in his eyes as he looked at the figure of the good man before him, framed by the stone facade of Bridewater that he’d all but memorized in his years there. “It certainly won’t, sir,” said Newt, trying to feign as much strength as he could in his voice. 

“Good,” said the Marshal, letting go of Newt’s hand and nodding for him to go off and join the carriage that held the rest of his party. Newt lingered a moment longer, as if another glance might help better engrain the familiar house further in his memory. He knew it was useless, that his mental picture of the estate was as good as it was going to get. 

It didn’t stop him from one last look, though, as he left his former employer’s side and joined Hermann at the carriage door. Neither said a word as they boarded and closed the door behind them. Karla and Miss Ainsworth had taken one side of the small carriage, leaving Newt and Hermann with their own bench. From Newt’s window, he could see the Marshal and the Bridewater servants waving goodbye. Mrs. Dramouth looked almost as if she were crying, and even the stablehands had stopped their conversation long enough to wave him off. Newt waved back wordlessly, not stopping until the carriage had started moving. 

None spoke for a moment as the horses started off, though Newt felt all eyes on him, particularly Hermann’s, though Newt distinctly avoided his gaze. 

“Not fond of goodbyes, then?” said Karla gently from across the carriage. Newt just shook his head, afraid that if he opened his mouth too much he might actually cry, and that would be nothing short of mortifying. 

Miss Ainsworth suddenly reached underneath her seat, and after a moment had procured a flask that she immediately offered to Newt, which he gratefully accepted. 

“Thank you, Miss Ainsworth,” he said quietly before bringing the vessel to his lips. 

She nonchalantly raised her finely plucked eyebrow, looking at him amusedly with her dark brown eyes. “I believe Vanessa will do now, Newton.” 

Newt smiled as he swallowed down the unknown liquor, feeling his cheeks redden. “Right. Thanks, Vanessa.” 

She gave him a small smile in return as she accepted the flask back, and Newt turned back to look out the window at the old grey stone house with its sprawling ivy, the ancient barn peeking out from behind it. Newt could faintly see the old familiar chestnut tree beside it, its leaves only beginning to turn with the approaching autumn. 

And then, with a blink, the Bridewater house disappeared from Newt’s sight, becoming swallowed up by the hills and trees and boulders. Newt looked away from the window, noticing that Karla had been studying him carefully. 

“You all right, then?” she asked slowly. 

“Very,” he said, firmly, conjuring a smile. 

Karla raised her eyebrow at him, unconvinced, but returned the smile. “You’ll see it again, you know,” she said softly, before adding, “and her again, too. I’m plenty sure of it.” 

Newt met her kind gaze. “You’re right, I know,” he said, hoping that he didn’t sound too heartsick in his tone. 

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his knee, squeezing gently. As he looked down, he realized it was Hermann’s touch that sought to comfort him. Newt felt himself blush at the open act of affection in front of the others, particularly when Karla and Vanessa clearly noticed it, the latter smirking coyly as soon as she saw the moving hand. Hermann, in contrast, didn’t seem to care in the slightest. 

Karla must have seen Newt’s reddening cheeks, as in that moment she turned to Vanessa and placed a delicate kiss on her lips, before resting her head on the other woman’s shoulder. Vanessa’s own brows lifted slightly at the unexpected act, but she simply rolled her eyes, lifting her own arm so that she could drape it over Karla’s shoulders and pull her in closer. Karla accepted the gesture, leaning further into the other woman and closing her eyes contentedly. Vanessa, too, shut her eyes, resting her own head against the back of the seat. 

Newt knew that it was unlikely that either was about to sleep, but he recognized the gesture of privacy that they offered, and appreciated it. 

For the first time since Newt had seen Mako and Becket disappear down the road from the chapel, he felt the tightness in his chest begin to fade as he watched the two women lean into each other affectionately. He felt his shoulders relax and his facial muscles easing up; he hadn’t even realized just how tense he’d been until he no longer was.

He suddenly became very aware once more of Hermann’s hand on his leg as the other man gently squeezed once more. Newt turned his head to face him, seeing the gentle smile that the other man wore, though there was a thinly veiled sadness in his eyes as he gazed at him. 

“Not having second thoughts, are you?” said Hermann under his breath, only loud enough for Newt to hear. 

Newt shook his head, placing his hand atop the other man’s on his knee, interlocking their fingers. “No cold feet here,” he promised quietly, tightening his grasp on Hermann’s hand. 

Hermann squeezed back, but given the worried look in his eyes, he didn’t seem to be entirely convinced. Newt tried his best to give his most persuasive smile, but the discerning look that Hermann gave him told him that it was futile. 

“Really,” whispered Newt softly, gazing at the troubled eyes of the man he knew he loved and wanted, no, _needed_ to be with it. He hated knowing that the unhappiness that read on Hermann’s face was because of him. “I’ve never been so certain of something in my life, that I promise. It’s just... a touch of homesickness, is all.” He sighed as he finished, knowing that he’d be entirely unable to mask the melancholy that must be plain on his face. 

Though he hadn’t known what to expect of Hermann upon hearing Newt’s revelation, he’d certainly not expected him to tuck his arm behind his waist and pull him closer, Newt helplessly finding himself leaning into the other man’s shoulder. “I can’t blame you for grieving the happiness you must have experienced at Bridewater,” said Hermann softly, his lips brushing against Newt’s hair. “Though I hope, soon, that you’ll come to regard Summerworth with such fondness as it becomes just as much your home as it is mine.” 

Though he knew that the other man couldn’t see him, he smiled at his words, nestling in closer to his comforting embrace. “I don’t imagine that’ll be too difficult.”

He could feel Hermann’s chest rise and fall as he chuckled, his grip on Newt’s waist growing tighter as he pulled the other man closer towards him. “I do hope so. I’m rather fond of the house myself.”

Newt shook his head softly, so as to not disturb his comfortable spot on the other man’s shoulder any more than necessary. “It’s not the house that I think’ll make me happy,” he mused quietly. 

Hermann said nothing for a moment, and then Newt felt a delicate kiss placed on the crown of his skull. Newt felt his eyes flutter closed blissfully at his touch, sinking peacefully into the man beside him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two chapters left, [jonathan van ness voice] can you believe? 
> 
> Full disclosure, the next chapter is an 8k testament to why this fic was rated Explicit and tagged with "Sexual Content." So if you're not into that, you might just want to wait until Chapter 25. However, if you're into that kind of shenanigans, _please_ enjoy Chapter 24, which should be up by the end of the week <3 And, as always, to my readers and commenters and kudoers, I most ardently admire and love you, and thank you with my entire heart.


	24. Homecoming

It was soft, at first. 

_"Newton?"_

And then, not quite so.

_“Newton!”_

Newt’s eyes blinked open, adjusting to the dark carriage interior that now surrounded him. Had he fallen asleep? As he lazily glimpsed out the window beside him, he saw the great Summerworth house looming silently over him, only illuminated by the various burning torches held by the servants that surrounded their carriage. 

“Are you awake, then?” He heard Hermann speaking to him from his left and turned to face him, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. 

“It would appear so,” said Newt groggily as the Summerworth butler opened the carriage door. Both he and Hermann allowed the ladies to exit before doing the same themselves. Newt’s joints creaked as they unbent for the first time in hours. The September air was brisk around him, the sun having set hours earlier to make way for the new moon that now hung almost entirely obscured in the sky.

The footmen set at retrieving their luggage from the carriage as the four of them stretched their sore limbs. Newt greeted the servants he recognized, like James and Mrs. Parker, while Hermann stepped off to the side for a moment to speak with the rest of his staff. Newt noticed that Karla and Vanessa were heading inside and decided to follow, rather than linger further in the chill air. 

Though it had only been a few short months since Newt had last stepped foot at Summerworth, it had still been long enough for him to be startled once again as he remembered the enormousness of the house and all its rich furnishings. It was like stepping back into a palace as he wandered down the massive hall after the ladies. He felt his tiredness disappear as he gaped at the grandiosity of the home, feeling so inconsequential between its towering, gilt walls. 

Vanessa and Karla began ascending the imperial staircase in the center of the hall, their lady’s maids following close behind. Newt lingered at the bottom of the oak stairs to wait for Hermann, seeing as he hadn’t the faintest where he ought to be headed at the moment. 

“Goodnight, Newton darling,” called Karla over her shoulder as she made her way up, and Newt waved her goodnight. Vanessa too glanced back in his direction, smiling softly at him before stifling a yawn and concentrating on the copious amount of steps still before her. Eventually they turned towards the right wing of stairs and disappeared down a corridor, and Newt returned to simply waiting patiently. 

A few moments passed before he decided to sit down on the third highest step, leaning his elbows on his knees and resting his face in his hands. His eyes glanced over the servants that busied themselves around him, readying the house for the night as they tended to the fireplaces and drew the curtains closed. Though he’d been treated as a proper guest during his last visit, it somehow felt stranger to watch them all now, knowing that he _really_ was no longer one of them. Not that Newt even really understood _what_ he was anymore, not really. 

_Just as much your home as it is mine._

That’s what Hermann had said in the carriage, and though his words had filled Newt with warmth in the moment, he now couldn’t help but wonder how true they could be. 

Certainly, it was no question that Newt could never hold any legal rights to the estate now matter how comfortable he made himself in Hermann’s bed, but what Newt questioned was whether or not he could even pretend to fill the role of gentleman, assuming that that was the role he was meant to fill at Summerworth. He tried to picture himself as Hermann, or Becket, or even the Marshal or Mr. Hansen, and failed miserably. 

_No_ , at present this beautiful house around Newt served not to elevate him, but instead to make him feel even smaller than he already did, it seemed.

As Newt glimpsed apprehensively at the vast hall around him, his eye was caught by a small leather-bound book left atop the marble mantle. It had been left open and upside-down, so that its binding formed a small tent. Newt felt the corner of his lips begin to curve into a slight smile at the sight. He suspected he knew who had abandoned the half-read book there, and suddenly the small mark of Hermann on the space made it almost feel like the grand house _could_ be a home, perhaps, and not simply just a reminder of what Newt inherently could never truly be. Though the sensation was brief, it served to comfort him temporarily in the moment. 

He heard the heavy front door open and close, and turned to look towards the entrance. He quickly saw Hermann, followed by his valet, walking towards him. 

“I apologize for that,” said Hermann as he approached, and Newt couldn’t help but acknowledge how he didn’t seem to be dwarfed by the house like Newt had been; instead, he looked as innate to the gilt walls as the enormous portraits that hung on them, as if he himself had been built into the home. He tried to pinpoint what it was that made him look so natural in the surroundings, whether it be the way he held himself, or his modest yet clearly expensive clothes, or just the way he looked at his surroundings so nonchalantly, a far cry from how Newt, in his commoner’s dress, had gaped at the cavernous hall upon entering. 

“It’s no problem at all,” said Newt, rising from his seat on the step to meet the two approaching men. 

Hermann nodded, having reached the staircase, and turned to look at the valet who followed silently behind him. “I’ll be fine for the rest of the evening, Hughes. You can go ahead and retire.”

The man who Newt knew now to be Hughes nodded, bidding his employer goodnight before disappearing through one of the connecting rooms. Hermann now turned to look back at Newt, a tender smile having appeared on his face. “Shall we head up, then?”

Newt returned the smile, trying to push away the negative thoughts he’d been dwelling on previously. “I suppose we better.” 

Hermann said nothing further, instead leading the way up the stairs as Newt followed close behind. As they reached the first landing, they took the left wing of stairs which brought them up another twenty curved steps before they found themselves entering a dimly lit hallway. Newt hadn’t been through this area yet, and though there were too few candles to get a very clear look, he could see that the walls had been carved of a reddish marble and that there were intricately carved pieces of furniture adorning the sides of the corridor, many of them topped with enormous bouquets in painted vases.

“This way,” called Hermann from a few feet ahead of him, and Newt realized he’d stopped walking to stare at the lavishness surrounding him. Newt shook his trance from his mind, continuing to follow the other man down the hall. 

Finally, the two stopped before an unassuming door carved of rich walnut. Hermann grabbed the burning candlestick from the small table beside the door and nodded for Newt to turn the brass knob and let them both in. The room itself was entirely unlit at first, so Newt only cautiously went a few steps, seeing as he hadn’t any clue where any threatening corners of furniture or abandoned shoes might lay waiting. 

Hermann set off lighting all the candles about the room, of whom's location Newt was certain he knew by heart. As he went, Newt was granted more and more view of the room around him, and soon enough there was enough light for him to get a solid look at its entirety. 

The space was more modest than the rest of the house, though not without its luxuries. In the center of the room laid a large four-poster bed with a plush grey blanket and several tightly-stuffed pillows, its dark wooden headboard carved with intricate designs of foliage and abstract wildlife. Only a large wardrobe, a simple desk, and a very full bookshelf took up the rest of the space. The wallpaper that covered the entirety of the room reflected the flickering candlelight in its gold and white stripes, only interrupted by the large windows and door to the balcony space. 

“Are you certain you're all right?”

Newt realized that Hermann had finished lighting the remaining candles and was now standing still, watching him from across the room. He wondered how long he’d been like that, just observing him. 

“Of course,” said Newt quickly, though he remained where he stood, just a few feet from the doorway. “Just taking in my surroundings, is all.” 

He watched as Hermann blinked slowly at him, his concerned expression unchanging. “Are you sure that’s all?” His voice didn’t sound terribly convinced. Newt watched as the other man’s fingers anxiously tapped on the top of the desk beside him, gently enough to not make a sound. 

Newt considered feigning total oblivion to what he meant, instead pretending as if everything was fine and normal and just as he’d thought it’d be, but in his heart he couldn’t lie to him. He was tired of lying, and he knew he’d done an awful lot more of it in the past few months than he particularly cared to admit. 

“It’s all just very… _new,_ you know,” he said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “A lot to take in at once.”

Hermann nodded, his fingers continuing to drum on the desktop. “I understand completely. It’s been a very overwhelming day for all of us. Would you like to just go right to sleep, then?”

Newt shook his head; his tiredness had long worn off and been replaced by restlessness, and he knew that he’d have little success with any attempts of sleep right now. 

“Is that a balcony right there?” he asked, pointing to the glass door towards the left of the room. “Might we just go out for a minute, have a smoke and some fresh air?”

Hermann considered his request for a moment before nodding, leading the way through the glass door and onto the small stone balcony. All that awaited them in the small outdoor space was a dainty potted iris on the railing, whose indigo blossom currently withdrew into itself in the dark. There was just enough space for the two of them and the flower to stand comfortably in the cool evening air. 

Both of them were quiet for a moment as Newt reached into his jacket pocket and took out his old pack of cigarettes, removing one and lighting it with a match. He offered the pack towards Hermann, though he declined. 

“That’s a dreadful habit, you know,” said Hermann, leaning his forearms against the railing and peering off into the dark night. 

“I must warn you that I have few good ones,” said Newt as he returned the pack of cigarettes to his pocket and took a drag from his lit one, silently grateful for the temporary relief it offered. “And didn’t you share a smoke with me in Sladehall End, back in the spring?”

Hermann fell silent for a moment, and Newt continued, adjusting his position so that he faced the man, suddenly curious. “No, I _know_ you did. At the Diplomat. You couldn’t get it lit.”

Newt could see the outline of Hermann swallowing before he opened his mouth, another moment of hesitation passing before he spoke. “Perhaps I was simply in need of an opportunity to get you alone,” he finally said, only looking at Newt from the corner of his eye. 

Newt couldn’t help but let out a small laugh as he took another puff. “Really?”

Hermann allowed a gentle chuckle to pass through his lips, nodding slightly. “It didn’t cross you as suspicious that I didn’t have my own with me, or that you never saw me partake in the habit under any other circumstances?”

Newt considered the other man’s words for a moment. “Colour me oblivious, then, because I can assure you it never registered.” 

Hermann turned so that he faced the house and leaned against the heavy stone railing, pressing his palms into the stone. He looked at Newt with a small, tentative smile and those big, brown eyes that had been so stuck in his mind as of late. “I’m rather relieved to see that I was not as obvious as I’d feared, then.”

Newt felt himself returning the smile, stepping closer towards him ever so slightly. “‘Obvious’ is not the word I’d really use to describe your technique, no.” 

Hermann’s lips turned into an amused half-smile as he raised his eyebrow at Newt. “It seemed to have worked some, though,” he said cautiously. 

“In a rather roundabout way, I suppose,” said Newt, tapping the ash of his cigarette off the balcony ledge. 

“I suppose so.”

As he glanced in his direction, Newt could tell the other man was watching him carefully. 

“What is it, then?” finally asked Newt, beginning to grow weary of the other man’s concerned looks. 

Hermann paused for a moment before finally speaking, his gaze still fixed on Newt. “Would it be impertinent of me to ask you once more what it is that’s been bothering you?”

Newt brought the cigarette back to his lips, allowing himself a deep inhale of its vapors before exhaling slowly. “I’m simply… struggling, you see, to understand how I’ll find my place here,” he said, letting his eyes linger on Hermann’s as the words began to fall from his lips. “Have you given it much thought as to how you intend to turn me into a convincing gentleman? Because I’m not so sure that it’s possible.”

“Were you not pretending to be one for the past few months, then, during your travels with the Hansens?” 

“Well, _yes,_ I suppose. But that was temporary, and I knew it to be. That was different.” 

“And why is that, then?”

Newt sighed, taking another drag. “Because I could step away from it then. There was no permeance to my role. Now, there is, and there’s no throwing off the tailcoat and running back to Bridewater if I’m caught.”

“Newton,” said Hermann slowly. “I know it isn’t exactly typical, but you aren’t the first pauper turned prince in England these days. Men who have only recently come into money are no new concept, and if you just so happen to let slip a _sir_ or _m’lady_ when it’s inappropriate, or use the wrong fork to eat your third course, well, I don’t believe they’ll stick you in the Tower of London for it. And, for the record, I do hope that you might take solace in knowing that you have the Gottlieb name standing behind you, including the power and status that it brings to mind, so it’s unlikely that anyone might confront you even if they do believe you to have humble origins.” 

Newt wet his lips nervously, carefully not thinking about the gentle reddening of Hermann’s cheeks as he watched him do so. 

“Right,” said Newt after a moment’s hesitation. 

“And regardless, we aren’t going to throw you to the wolves without some preparation,” continued Hermann. “The ladies and I will ensure that you’re primed before forcing you to make an entrance before any party that you fear might question your legitimacy amongst our ranks.” 

That was comforting, at least, and Newt trusted him to mean it. 

“And what of the servants?”

Hermann paused at Newt’s question. “What do you mean?”

“Who is it that they believe me to be, then? For all I know, they simply know me as the strange man who came for a few days months ago and left in a hurry and then simply showed up again.” 

“Oh,” said Hermann, as if he hadn’t expected Newt to ask that question. “Well, they know that you’re to be living here from now on, just as Vanessa has for the past few years.”

“Right,” he said, though he knew he didn’t sound terribly convinced. “Who is it that they all believe Vanessa to be, then?” 

Hermann’s mouth twitched into an unexpected smile at Newt’s question. “Oh, I’m certain that some of them understand her true relationship to my sister, though I’m sure others are entirely oblivious and believe them to be simply… close friends. History does tend to see women in love that way, so I don’t see why it would be any different here.” 

Newt nodded as he took another drag. “So what is it that they believe my relationship with _you_ to be? Your close friend, who just happens to share your bedroom?” 

Hermann opened his mouth before closing it, clearly considering his words carefully. “The staff know... as much as is required. I do hope that you won’t worry about that any further.” 

“Right,” laughed Newt hoarsely, tapping the ash off his cigarette once more, “and if you think I’m settling for _that_ as an answer then I’ve got news for you.”

“For goodness' sake,” sighed Hermann with a hint of exasperation in his voice, running his hand anxiously through his short hair. “I don’t know how to put this politely, Newton, and I pray that you won’t be offended by this, but…”

“Yes?” 

Hermann ran his tongue over his teeth before speaking, rubbing at the back of his head. “Well, you’re not the first… gentleman guest I’ve entertained at Summerworth.” The words stumbled out of his lips awkwardly, as if he wasn’t quite sure what Newt’s reaction towards them might be.

_Oh._

_Oh!_

So he wasn’t to be Hermann’s first. He really hadn’t thought about it much, if at all, but it interested him to know it, regardless. He was a tad surprised that he handled the revelation with not jealousy but rather heightened curiosity. “Is that so?” he said as nonchalantly as he could muster, taking another puff from his smoke. 

Hermann nodded stiffly, his hand absentmindedly beginning to tug at the ruffled collar of his shirt. Newt could see a creeping redness beginning to form across the other man’s cheekbones, which only served to make him appear even more endearing as he adjusted himself uncomfortably before Newt. 

“Yes, I’m afraid,” said the other man tentatively as he avoided Newt’s eyes. 

Newt’s eyebrow raised as he took another drag from his shrinking cigarette, a small smile beginning to form at the corner of his lips. He felt his previous apprehensions begin to desert his present mind as he thought exclusively of how handsome the other man looked in the starlight. “Ought I be envious, Mr. Gottlieb?” 

Hermann seemed to be entirely unaware of Newt’s delight at his scandalous confession, instead remaining entirely flustered as he stared at the stone floor of the balcony. “No,” he said flatly, his exasperation clear in his voice now. “Regardless, what I’m _trying_ to say is that, if I knew my staff to not be discreet and trustworthy, I would have known by now.”

Newt ignored the man’s temporary indignation, putting out the remaining cigarette in the potted iris on the railing and slipping the remnants in his jacket pocket. “Fascinating,” he said slowly, stepping nearer towards the other man who still leaned against the railing. 

Hermann noticed Newt getting closer and didn’t fight it, instead shifting his weight on the railing so that he faced him more directly. “Does this surprise you, then?”

“I hope it does not cause offense if it does.”

“None taken.” 

“And did you offer them all a permanent residency in your bedroom, then?"

Hermann scoffed. “Absolutely not. Any previous… _guests_ I might’ve entertained rarely lingered longer than an evening.”

Newt gave a low laugh, noticing how close he’d become to the other man; only inches separated them. “So, then,” said Newt, bringing the back of his fingers delicately towards the other man’s blushing cheeks, brushing them gently across the edge of his angular jawline. “You must be rather the professional, then.”

“I hardly believe I’m the one to be the judge of that,” said Hermann, his breath skipping as Newt’s fingers grazed against the side of his face. 

Newt felt his heartbeat pounding in his chest as his gaze locked on the other man’s. “Perhaps I might be of service in that regard, then.”

Newt could see the faint shadow of Hermann swallowing in the minimal light. “Is that an offer, then?” 

“Only if you’re accepting,” said Newt in a hushed voice as his hands followed the curve of Hermann’s neck, stopping just above his ruffled collar, pressing his fingers against the bare skin. 

“Readily,” said the other man, the lone word cracking in his throat as it came out. 

“Might we head inside?”

“I think that’d be pertinent.”

Within seconds, they’d reentered the bedroom and then Newt was sitting on the edge of the bed, working at ridding himself of his shoes. Hermann stood only a few feet away, unmoving as he watched Newt begin to disrobe. 

“Do you know how to undress yourself, then?” said Newt as he removed his first shoe, watching Hermann stare at him. 

Hermann raised an eyebrow at him, though he began undoing his cuff links. “Is that a valet joke, then?”

Newt couldn’t help the small smile that crept towards the corner of his lips as he successfully rid himself of his second shoe and stood back up, walking in his now-socked feet towards him. “Definitely a valet joke.” 

“And a hilarious one at that,” said Hermann very seriously, though his coy half-smile gave him away. 

“You’ll find more of that where it came from,” said Newt as he brought his fingers up to the other man’s collar, undoing the first small pearl button and revealing a narrow triangle of bare skin. 

“You realize I do know how to undress myself without a valet, though, correct?” said Hermann as his eyes lowered to watch Newt’s working fingers, though he made no move to stop him. 

“I figured as much,” laughed Newt softly as he undid the second, then the third, baring more and more of the other man’s chest. Newt had never seen the man so exposed before, and his eyes locked on the pale skin, taut against his ribs, unable to look away. 

“That’s good,” said the other man under his breath as Newt undid the last few buttons of his dress shirt. Newt could see the gentle v-shape of the Hermann’s torso, and then his sharp hip bones jutting from the waist of his trousers. The view was exquisite. 

“Fuck,” said Newt quietly as he brought his hands up to the other man’s shoulders, taking off the jacket and shirt as quickly as Hermann allowed it. As it shrugged off his shoulders, Newt took in the sight of his narrow shoulders and exposed neck. 

“Is something wrong, then?” said Hermann in a low voice, gently raising his brow as he watched the other man undress him.  
  
“I daresay not,” said Newt as he tossed the other man’s upper layers onto the carpet. “In fact, everything appears to be very _right_ at the moment.”

The corner of Hermann’s lips drew into a charming half-smile at his words, bringing his own available hand up to Newt’s neck. “Might I?”

“Be my guest,” said Newt as Hermann’s thin fingers began working at the small buttons of Newt’s plain shirt. His hand worked with ease, undoing the buttons one by one until Newt’s entire chest was exposed, and Newt relished in the soft touch of the man’s fingers against his skin.

“You’ve no idea how I’ve longed to see you like this,” said Hermann as he rid Newt of his shirt in one sweeping movement. 

“Right,” said Newt as Hermann began to stroke the back of his newly-exposed neck. “You. That ridiculously enormous bed. In it. Now.” 

Hermann required no further convincing as the two of them quickly found themselves atop the plush grey bedding, and Newt couldn’t tell who grabbed the other first but then _, there it was,_ and Hermann’s lips were against his once more, his tongue exploring his mouth hungrily, desperately. Newt’s glasses soon fell with a clatter towards the floor as their fumbling hands reached for one another in the bed, but Newt couldn’t have cared less. The newfound sensation of Hermann’s bare chest against his was electrifying, and Newt found himself on top of him, digging his hands into Hermann’s biceps as the other man wrapped his arms around Newt’s waist. 

Newt only leaned more into the kiss, running his tongue along the other man’s teeth as their lips met. He felt the soft fuzz of Hermann’s chest against his own thick chest hair, their warm skin rubbing against each other as they kissed eagerly. He brought his hand up so that he could tangle his fingers in the hair at the nape of his lover’s neck, bringing his face closer to his own as he fervently kissed his lover with months-worth of long-suppressed sexual frustration. 

He felt as Hermann clasped his hand on his back, digging his fingernails into his spine as he bit into Newt’s lip, and in the moment he cared very little about who he was and who he wasn’t, and only cared about _whose_ he was, and Newt Geiszler was so entirely, utterly Hermann Gottlieb’s that he could hardly breathe. 

His body gave an involuntary shudder as Hermann brought his lips up to his neck, sucking hard on the bare flesh, his nails continuing to bury themselves in Newt’s back. Hermann reacted to the tremors that coursed through Newt’s body, a deep moan escaping his lips as he slid his teeth against Newt’s neck. 

_“Fuck,”_ groaned Newt as Hermann’s mouth worked its way around Newt’s throat. He felt his cock pressing hard against the fabric of the trousers he still wore, knowing that Hermann must feel it as well. Certainly enough, Hermann took the bulging warmth of Newt’s crotch against his as an invitation to buck his hips upwards, grinding into him. At the touch, Newt couldn’t help but sink further down into the man below him, leaning his head into the other man’s bare shoulder as unintelligible noises fell from his lips. 

He felt as Hermann’s hands clutched at his naked waist, his long fingers digging into the soft flesh of Newt’s stomach as his hips grinded against his with impatience, the fabric of their trousers rubbing together. Though he felt himself entirely melting into the sensation, he managed to bring his head up once more, looking down at the man below him. 

Hermann’s eyes opened as Newt rose, and Newt saw the heat that burned within them, a lust that was nowhere near satiated yet. Small beads of sweat had formed against his hairline and his lips were bright red and tender from their recent work, and Newt couldn’t think of a moment in which the other man had looked so devastatingly gorgeous. Without a second thought, Newt pressed his lips against Hermann’s once more, and there they were, kissing hungrily and adamantly, and Newt could taste the salt of his own sweat as they greedily explored one another. 

Hermann’s hands drifted south from Newt’s waist, each of them taking a handful of Newt’s ass, and Newt felt himself involuntarily groaning once more as he rubbed his covered groin against him. 

“I _want_ you, Newton,” said Hermann in a low voice as he pulled his lips away from Newt’s, pressing his head farther into the pillow behind him, eyes closed in bliss. Newt watched the dark lashes that fluttered against his sharp cheekbones, following the line of his neck down until he was looking once more at Hermann’s bare chest. He watched the movement of his breast as the other man panted, continuing to jerk his hips towards Newt’s, and Newt couldn’t help but drag his lips down the curve of his throat, allowing his tongue to trail down the delicate flesh of his rib cage until he settled on one small, pink nipple, locking his lips on it and beginning to suck.

Hermann shuddered helplessly beneath him at the touch, his back arching against the plush mattress as Newt sucked the sensitive skin harder. Hermann’s hands grasped at Newt’s hair, tangling themselves in the thick brunette locks as he moaned against the pillow. 

“Newton,” said Hermann in a cracked voice as Newt’s tongue worked on. Newt opened his eyes, glancing upwards at his lover, though he didn’t stop. Hermann’s own eyes were closed still, and Newt took a moment to memorize the blissful expression he wore, his brown hair sticking against the pale skin of his forehead, his lips parted in pleasure as Newt’s tongue slid across the tender flesh.

As Newt gently bit at the other man’s skin, he watched as Hermann’s eyes fluttered open, his mouth becoming a small circle as Newt bit harder, and then began sucking once more. He felt the increased heaving of the other man’s chest as he gasped harder. 

“ _Newton,”_ Hermann repeated, though even less articulately, his hooded eyes drifting downwards to look into Newt’s. 

Newt’s lips finally abandoned Hermann’s chest as he leaned his head back up, looking into Hermann’s lustful gaze. “Yes, my love?” said Newt finally, after dragging his tongue a last time over Hermann’s chest. 

“ _Trousers_ ,” was all that the other man offered through his shudders, though Newt didn’t need any further direction. He slid himself further down Hermann’s figure until he was just above the waistband of his trousers. He saw the bulging form that took over the other man’s groin, grazing his hands against the clothed protrusion gently. Hermann’s hips answered immediately as they thrust themselves into Newt’s grasp, and Newt cupped the swelling fabric tighter, only causing Hermann to grind his hips harder. 

Still grasping Hermann’s covered cock, Newt brought his lips down to Hermann’s stomach, feeling the hollowness of his thin build beneath his tongue as he trailed across his torso, stopping to nibble at the protruding hip bone that peeked out from above his waistband. 

Hermann’s hands had long fallen from Newt’s hair and now gripped at the grey blankets beneath them, his knuckles going red as they dug into the cloth. Newt continued kissing his way across Hermann’s waist, feeling the goosebumps that formed on the delicate flesh as his tongue worked its way across the bare skin. 

Finally, Newt found the button of Hermann’s trousers beneath his lips, and he brought it between his teeth, biting it off its thread in one quick motion and spitting it over the edge of the bed. Hermann seemed blissfully unaware of Newt’s quick work of the button as he pushed his hips further against Newt’s throat, his hands tangling further into the blanket beneath them. 

Newt brought his hands up to the waist of the other man’s trousers, beginning to tug them off slowly. Hermann lifted his hips, making it easier for Newt to pull them off. Then, it was simply Hermann lying there in only his cotton drawers, leaving the rest of him entirely bare. Though Newt longed to simply tear off the remaining fabric, he stopped momentarily, taking in the sight of Hermann’s nearly-naked form. 

“You’re as stunning as I’d imagined,” said Newt underneath his breath as he gazed at Hermann’s figure, studying the angular lines of his lean form. He stared at the bare flesh that had hardly seen the sun since boyhood, pale white dotted with small constellations of freckles, protruding bones that pressed sharply against delicate skin, downy hairs gathering on his chest and along his legs. He watched as Hermann’s knees quivered as Newt pressed his hands gently on each of his hip bones, pressing his thumbs into the thin skin. He saw the swelling form of Hermann’s cock fighting to get out of its clothes and find its way into Newt’s grasp. 

His fingers grasped at the soft cloth of Hermann’s drawers, gently tugging at the light blue cotton, and then Hermann’s hips pressed upwards once more and Newt was able to rid the other man of his clothes entirely. He heard Hermann gasp as his cock was released, his entire body shuddering as Newt finished undressing him.

And then, there his lover was in all of his entirety, his bare cock standing tall only a few inches from Newt’s face. Though he hadn’t been quite sure of what to expect, he couldn’t help but gawk at it, for it was much larger than he’d anticipated. It was thin and long, having reddened from being grinded against fabric for so long, and _perfect_. Its tip pulsed as Newt breathed against it, shy droplets of cum beginning to form at its head, and Newt ached to reach down and lick it off. 

He watched as Hermann writhed beneath him, fingers pulling the grey blanket down from the head of the bed, his cock throbbing closer and closer to Newt’s lips. 

In a swift motion, Newt wrapped his mouth around the tip of Hermann’s cock delicately, tasting the bitterness of his precum as it entered his ready mouth. 

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” groaned Hermann as Newt’s tongue began sliding around the tip of his quivering cock, feeling as it twitched between his cheeks. 

Newt let more of the other man’s cock enter his mouth as he brought his head lower, taking his hand and placing it on the shaft, gripping and rubbing as his tongue swirled around the length. With the sudden motion, Hermann started half-way up in the bed, his mouth hung in pleasure, eyes hooded as they stared desperately at Newt, who continued sucking. 

“You’re good at this,” said Hermann in a rare moment of articulation before slumping back into the mattress behind him, his arms flinging back to grab onto the headboard. 

Newt laughed softly, his mouth still full of Hermann’s cock, before tightening his lips and sucking harder, picking up speed as he went. Hermann was entirely unable to do anything but grasp onto the headboard behind him and lie there, making weak noises of indisputable pleasure as Newt sucked harder, breathing through his nose. 

He circled his tongue around the other man’s cock, his hand thrusting harder and faster as he felt the tip press against the back of his mouth. Hermann had entirely become putty in Newt’s hands by this point, submitting helplessly to Newt’s mouth as he sunk further into the mattress. 

As Hermann moaned from the back of his throat, Newt’s mouth began sucking on his cock more urgently, his hand pumping faster, harder as he worked Hermann’s cock. He felt his own cock pressing against his own trousers as he sucked Hermann’s length, still half-dressed himself but entirely unable to care. 

Hermann’s own hips began thrusting once more, gently enough so that Newt wasn’t disturbed from his work, but hard enough that Newt felt the other man’s cock pressing against the insides of his teeth, brushing against the back of his mouth, and he sucked even harder, his lips rubbing against the soft skin of Hermann’s cock as he found his rhythm alongside Hermann’s bucking hips. 

Newt took Hermann’s responding groans to be signs that he was doing just fine, and he continued flicking his tongue against the sensitive skin at the base of Hermann’s cock as his neck moved back and forth, taking in Hermann’s length entirely. 

Not stopping, Newt looked up through his fanned lashes to see Hermann’s face, catching the other man looking down at him with desire, adoration as he panted heavily, hands still gripping the headboard for dear life. 

Abruptly, his cock began pulsing at a different, quicker tempo, and then Newt felt Hermann finishing in the back of his throat, his load hot and metallic as it seeped into his mouth, lining the pockets of his cheeks as he came helplessly and unexpectedly, and Newt found himself swallowing it down and wanting more. 

Though his sweat-dampened face was already flush with exercise, Newt watched as redness still crept across the other man’s cheeks as he realized what he’d just done. Newt allowed the limp cock to gracefully fall from his lips, swallowing down the remaining droplets that lingered in his throat before wiping at his lips with the back of his hand and smiling up at the man before him. 

“My apologies,” started Hermann, though the words came out weakly as he sank into the mattress beneath him, his eyes fluttering as his body processed what had just happened. “That usually doesn’t happen that quickly.” 

Newt couldn’t help but grin up at him as he slid back up towards the pillow, resting on his side and leaning into his elbow behind his head. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” said Newt, cupping Hermann’s face in his hand, feeling the hot skin beneath his fingers. “You’re magnificent.” 

Hermann let out a hoarse laugh as he turned to look at Newt, sinking into the touch of his palm. “Speak for yourself,” he sighed, pressing a gentle kiss against Newt’s fingers before looking back up at his lover once more, his eyes still burning with desire despite his current exhaustion. 

Newt gently caressed the side of Hermann’s face, fingers brushing against the sweat-laden locks that had slicked to the edges of his forehead. 

“It’s hard to think this is real,” said Newt softly, eyes studying the hard edges of his lover’s face in their blissful state. 

“I can promise you that this is as real as it gets,” hummed Hermann, lashes fluttered against the skin of Newt’s hand as he continued lightly stroking his cheeks. 

“I’m pleased to hear it.” 

Hermann smiled, his blinking eyes becoming more and more cognizant as he looked at Newt’s face on the pillow beside him. From within his own chest, Newt felt his heartbeat quicken as he recognized the affectionate look in the other man’s brown eyes, the unguarded sentimentality in his fond gaze. Newt leaned over, pressing a soft kiss against his lover’s lips. 

He pulled away after a moment, opening his eyes once more to watch the tender expression only bloom further across the other man’s cheeks. “You’ve no idea how I’ve longed to have you right here, in this room,” said Hermann softly through reddened lips, resting a hand on the curve of Newt’s waist. 

“And here I am, bells and all,” said Newt with a smile, leaning into the touch. 

Hermann lazily raised an eyebrow, his smile curving up the side of his face. “You’ve brought bells, then?” he said playfully, eyes glancing down towards the trousers that Newt still wore; the only remaining article of clothing between them. “Have you hidden them in there, then?” 

Newt grinned as Hermann’s fingers found their way towards the waistband of Newt’s trousers, dipping his thumbs beneath the fabric and beginning to tug. 

“Hold on,” laughed Newt, bringing his own hands down and starting to undo the button. “Let me get this first, or you won’t get them off.” 

“Oh, so mine are just fine to ruin, but _yours_ are sacred, then?”

“You noticed that, then?” said Newt, blushing as he remembered his rather unconventional method of unbuttoning with his teeth from just minutes before.

“I rather did, though I’m afraid to say that I can find very little within me to care in this moment.”

"Glad to hear it, really." Newt made quick work of the button, and then Hermann slid the fabric over the curve of Newt’s ass and down his thighs, until the trousers were freed from his ankles and tossed aside with the rest of the clothes on the bedroom floor. He wasted no time doing the same with Newt’s plain drawers, and then there they were, entirely bared to one another with nothing between them. Newt still laid on the bed, though Hermann sat partially upright, eyes locked on Newt’s figure. 

Though Newt had been given his initial view of his lover’s naked form earlier in their escapade, this was Hermann’s first opportunity to glimpse at Newt in his entirety. Newt watched as the other man’s pupils grew darker as he studied Newt’s body, taking in the softness of his belly, his thick thighs, the dense hair that covered his chest and legs, and, of course, his swelling cock that had recently become highly attentive to every one of Hermann’s movements once more. 

“Exquisite,” breathed Hermann softly as his eyes traced every corner and line of Newt’s body almost scientifically, as if he was trying to understand how each aspect worked with its counterparts. 

Newt felt himself involuntarily exhaling as he watched the other man stare at him, and he realized that he’d been holding his breath as he’d waited for the other man to react to the full view of him.

Hermann seemed to notice the deep breath that escaped Newt’s lips as he brought his other hand up to cup Newt’s cheek, eyes fixating on him with intensity. 

“I don’t believe that someone could have designed a more perfect specimen,” said Hermann with seriousness as he massaged his thumb against the corner of Newt’s face. 

Newt had almost opened his mouth to say that, if _that_ were true, there wouldn’t be an abandoned pair of glasses on the floor beside them and he wouldn’t need a chair to reach the taller shelves of even the most modest of libraries, but then Hermann’s lips were against his once more and there was no need for any more words, only touching and kissing and tasting. 

Hermann slung his leg over Newt’s waist, straddling him as they kissed, and Newt felt his cock throbbing against the bare skin of Hermann’s loins, and any previous tiredness that either of them had exhibited was entirely thrown out the window. 

Newt bucked his hips against Hermann, to which he responded by grinding his own down further as he kissed Newt harder and more desperately, one hand grasping at Newt’s hair and the other digging into his shoulders. Newt’s own hands pressed into the small of Hermann’s waist, his fingers grazing the sharp edges of his hip bones. 

They kissed furiously, Hermann biting down hard on Newt’s bottom. Newt responded by rubbing his arousal harder against Hermann’s, feeling the other man’s fingers twisting more urgently in his hair. 

“Oh, _fuck_ me,” groaned Hermann, breaking apart from their kiss to pant against Newt’s throat. 

“That's the idea,” said Newt, causing Hermann to tremble with his entire body. As their eyes met once more, Newt watched as Hermann’s face burned with desire, his wanting brown eyes framed by hooded eyelids, black lashes fluttering helplessly against his rouge cheeks. 

Wordlessly, Newt flipped them over, guiding Hermann so that the other man was on his hands and knees, facing the headboard. 

“Are you comfortable?” asked Newt as he watched the man lean into the position. Hermann turned around his shoulder and nodded eagerly. 

“There’s oil in the drawer,” said Hermann, gesturing with his head towards the side table next to the bed. Newt leaned over and retrieved it before lathering his fingers with the sleek liquid. 

On his knees behind the angled figure of Hermann, Newt began to lazily circle his slippery fingers around the other man’s hole, feeling the quivering of his body beneath him. His own cock grew harder as he felt the other man’s reaction to being touched. 

He looked down at the rippling shape of Hermann’s spine running down his long, thin back, the elegant curves of his visible ribs, the subtle curve of his waist as it sloped down into his taut ass; the sight was utterly divine. 

“I quite enjoy you from this angle,” murmured Newt as he began sinking the tip of one finger in, and then another. 

“You should see me in it more often,” said Hermann through his moans of pleasure as Newt pushed his fingers in deeper. 

Newt laughed softly, using his other hand to pour more oil. Hermann trembled at the cold nectar before leaning into Newt’s touch. Slowly they found their rhythm, Hermann’s hands holding tight to the pillow beneath him and Newt’s spare hand lingering on Hermann’s hip, his fingertips circling the soft skin. 

He closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of the man before him, allowing himself the euphoric sensation of simply concentrating on _feeling_ Hermann’s pleasure. The other man pushed himself further into Newt’s touch, keeping up their familiar ebb and flow as they reached for bliss alongside one another. 

From between Hermann’s thighs, Newt felt a hand reaching for his cock. His eyes fluttered open, looking down to see Hermann’s grasp around his length. 

“I _need_ you, _now,”_ said Hermann breathily over his shoulder, his fingers tightening around Newt’s cock. 

“As you wish,” said Newt gruffly, slowly sliding his fingers out of the other man and using his other hand to reach for the oil once more. He anointed his cock with the slick lubricant, pouring a little down Hermann’s ass for good measure, before gently beginning to push himself in. 

“ _Fuck._ ” Despite his preparations, Hermann was _tight,_ and the pressure felt incredible against Newt’s throbbing cock. He glanced down at Hermann, who faced the headboard once more. His face was pushed against his downy pillow so that Newt couldn’t see his expression, but given the muffled moans and energetic participation, Newt could guess what it looked like.

Their rhythm came quickly and easily as Newt pressed his hands around Hermann’s waist, gripping the other man’s sides as he pushed in and out. It felt as though they’d been doing this together forever; there was no awkwardness to their movements, no faltering in their cadence. 

No, there was a familiarity to what they were doing, like they’d long known the other’s body and soul, their motivations and desires and apprehensions and secrets laid bare before them as they joined together in the creation of love. There was no mystery, no hesitation in their union, only ease and pleasure as they touched. It was so blissful that Newt almost feared it was a dream for a moment, but _no,_ there he was; his Hermann, so intimately and devotedly _his,_ as real as the heart beating against his chest, as real as the moon outside and the stars above. 

Everything was so _right,_ to put it as simply as he might; the universe seemed to hang in perfect order, just in this moment, where there was no concern about one’s status in life or whether his buttons were brass or pearls or other silly, trivial things like that. Instead, all that mattered was that he was _there_ and Hermann was _there_ and they were together in such a profound harmony and _nothing else mattered._ He felt as though he were one of the butterflies in the greenhouse; so far away from their origins but so at peace in their perfect Arcadia.

“ _Hermann."_

The words had hardly left Newt’s lips when he felt himself begin to climax, and then there was nothing he could do to stop himself from coming right then and there, his entire body trembling as he finished. He was helpless as he slumped against Hermann’s back, his head falling in the nook of the other man’s shoulder. He tucked his arm around his lover’s stomach as he panted against his neck, pressing gentle kisses into the sweat-dampened skin with closed eyes. 

It had felt just as incredible as he’d imagined, and yet still, even _better._

“ _Newton,_ ” breathed Hermann below him, and Newt’s eyes fluttered open once more as he leaned back up on his knees, steadying himself by grabbing onto Hermann’s frame still beneath him. 

“Hello there,” said Newt as he continued to struggle to catch his breath after such rigorous exercise. He adjusted himself so that he was sitting next to Hermann’s side rather than behind him, allowing himself to crash onto his side and be propped up by the plush mattress beneath him. He knew he ought to grab something to clean them both, but in the moment, he just didn’t have the energy to do anything but lie there and stare at Hermann, who had now rolled over onto his own side. 

Eyes flickering down the other man’s stunning body, Newt realized that a pool of white had formed on the blanket from where Hermann had been. Caught up in the moment, he hadn’t even realized that Hermann had reached his peak as well, though he was glad to see he had. 

“Hello,” said Hermann with a gentle laugh, leaning into his propped elbow. He ignored the mess between them as he used his other hand to trail the length of Newt’s arm gingerly. His lustful boldness from only minutes before seemed to have evaporated into a bashful contentment, his formerly aflamed eyes having turned a warm golden brown, crinkled in the corners. “That was very nice, for the record.” 

Newt felt himself grinning helplessly as he watched Hermann gaze at him with those kind eyes, rich in a particular tenderness that only seemed to exist for Newton. 

“I do hope you’ll include that in my reference,” he teased. 

Hermann chuckled, tracing the bones of Newt’s hand with his fingers. “Do you have plans of needing one soon, then?”

Newt looked at the man before him; like the gentle moon, there was a soft glow to him in the dark room. Newt felt drawn to him, like the defenseless sea against the rocky shore, each wave of affection a result of the magnetic effect of Hermann’s unguarded smile, his tousled, sweat-laden hair, the elegant curve of his throat as he took deep breaths. 

“I daresay not,” said Newt with a smitten grin, before pulling Hermann closer for yet another long, uninterrupted kiss. 


	25. Epilogue

_October 1813_

_My dearest Newton,_

_I apologize for the delay in my correspondence, for I know that we have not spoken since your final day in Sladehall End, but I do hope that you’ll forgive me. Things have been so merry here and yet so busy, and I’ve only just now finally found a moment to write. Seeing as I have received no letter from you, either, I presume that you are finding yourself just as consumed with your new ventures, and will thus pay me no ill regard for my silence._

_Though it has only been a short month, it seems as though married life suits me well. I find myself to be very happy with Raleigh, far beyond even my most hopeful of expectations._

_Though we certainly spend enough of our time visiting with friends and managing the estate, we are outside as much as possible. I do not mean that we take casual afternoon strolls in the shade, but rather that we climb trees and rocks and hills, swim in the river and fish from the shore, practice our archery and poke around in our garden, and we ride our horses for sometimes even an entire day; Father permitted me to take Romeo with me to Bolton, and he and Raleigh’s gelding are just as happy to spend the days exercising as we are._

_Raleigh cares little about whether or not my frocks get muddied or if I scratch my knees like other men might have; rather, he says that my indifference towards gentility is one of his favorite things about me. And for me, it is particularly his unconditional affection for my unruliness that I love about him._

_It amazes me daily how happy we are. Being at Bolton with him feels so natural, as if I have been here, with him, my whole life; as if this was how things were meant to be._

_My only occasional sadness derives from your absence in my everyday life. How you would enjoy it here, Newton. The library is as enormous as you’d originally said, and the grounds marvelous. I do hope that Summerworth is even a fraction of its pleasure, though from your stories as well as my husband’s, I suspect it is suiting you just fine._

_Raleigh asked that I might tell you hello and to say that he is looking forward to seeing you and company come winter, and to ask that you might pass on his love to everyone._

_On the subject of well-wishes, my father wanted me to pass on a greeting and to say that he hopes you are settling into your new life well. His own health has only bettered since you last saw him, I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear. He’s almost entirely recovered, in fact, and has largely resumed his way of living as it had been before the events of this summer._

_Of course, the appearance of my newfound brother has prevented life from returning to exactly how it was, but in a good sense, of course. Jacob has opted to take leave from the military until the new year, and is staying with our father at Bridewater. The two get along swimmingly, though they still have much to learn about one another. It’s charming to see them interact; they both so clearly aim to please the other, yet would never confess it. I suppose they’ll figure it out soon enough._

_If you are still finding the time to read the papers these days, you might’ve seen the news about the old drunk fellow who owned the Laughing Diplomat, that strange Mr. George. It appears as though he passed a few weeks prior, happily in his sleep, and of course there was a small ceremony and a much-larger send-off in town where everyone poured gin into the old fountain at the center of the square. But that’s not the interesting bit, of course._

_If you can believe it, it appears as though old Mr. George thought your companion, Mr. Tendo Choi, had been under his employment all this time, and he went up and left the entire place to him._

_Why, as soon as they’d told him, he handed in his notice to the Longshire’s and has devoted himself to the place full-time. The Marshal has remarked that he doesn’t believe he’s ever seen the whole of Sladehall End any drunker, which I suppose is a testament to his natural success._

_And with this comes the last of my promised messages, as Tendo asked that I might tell you that he hopes you are as well and jolly. This message being amongst a number of other terribly vulgar, rude things he asked me to pass along that I entirely refuse to write in my hand, so you will simply have to use your imagination on that part._

_I hope you are well, my dear friend, and that Summerworth is all that you had dreamed it would be. I pray that you write me back and inform me of how you are settling in, and, of course, how your Mr. Gottlieb is doing. I do hope that you are being good, Newton; and, of course, by that I mean I do hope that you are behaving as contrary as possible, for I do believe your indecent side to be your best._

_Please send my affections to all your friends, and remember to take good care of yourself. I eagerly await stories of your misadventures and to see you again, come winter._

_With much love, your constant friend,_

_Mako Becket_

A crisp orange leaf had descended from the pages of the letter. He recognized it to be that of a horse chestnut tree and presumed that he might be able to suppose which particular specimen it had fallen from. 

“Nice touch,” said Newt aloud to the empty library, twirling the leaf in his fingers. 

Mako had been right; Newt had neglected to write _her_ over the past month. It hadn’t been intentional, his silence. No, rather he’d simply lost track of time while he’d been adjusting to his new lifestyle.

The past month had been a happy one, to say the least. Overall, he had found himself quickly woven into the fabric of daily life at Summerworth. 

It had been determined that if Newt was to join the ranks of the Gottliebs in Taernsby, then he might as well put on the airs of a gentleman, a task that had kept them all rather busy. The ladies had in particular charged themselves with acclimating him to his new social status, Karla helping him learn the intricacies of upper-class life that he would be expected to know, and Vanessa with dressing the part as she arranged for him to be fitted into fine suits of the latest fashions and dress shirts of the softest fabrics. 

Together, they offered him almost a sort of finishing school, ensuring that he knew the correct manners for dining and pronunciations of ancient family names, and while polishing Newt’s rough edges was a continued project, he was grateful for it. When they dragged him to various social events, they always made it clear that they sought to help him embarrass himself the least, and while it wasn’t always effective, Newt certainly appreciated the effort. 

He had bonded with the two of them almost immediately; in their own ways, they both reminded him of his former student. In Karla, Newt saw Mako’s tendency for mischief and talent in making easy conversation, while in Vanessa he saw her affinity for the outdoors and her thoughtfulness. Together, the two of them frequently had him bent over in laughter with Karla’s deceptively foul mouth and Vanessa’s dry tongue, and at the same time, their clear consideration for Newt’s comfort made it so that they were always easy ears to turn to when his happiness faltered. 

As they spent more and more time together, he began to see the two women nearly as sisters; nearly every night and many an afternoon since his arrival had been spent together, the four of them, chatting and laughing, making music and playing games, telling stories and, at times, even having more heartfelt conversations, and all the while, becoming more and more accustomed to the new family that they had formed. 

It was all lovelier than Newt had ever anticipated, and that was even without taking his new life with Hermann into consideration.

_Hermann._

His Hermann, who sought to ensure that each day Newt was cared for in every way. Who had made certain that the kitchens were stocked with the foods he liked and curtains drawn to his preference in the morning, who had set out to acquire the books that Newt desired to read and the seeds of flowers that he wished to plant. Who always asked first, _“What would you like to do today?”_ and had yet to say no to anything, as of yet. 

(Certainly, many of Newt’s requests had included fucking like rabbits in every available space, inside and outside of Summerworth, so Newt couldn’t particularly blame him for always being so agreeable, to be fair.)

But, that was him. His Hermann. 

Oh, how he adored waking up beside him every morning, watching his lover blink the sleep from his eyes as the gentle sun trickled in and bathed them in its pleasant warmth. How he loved being able to look across the table at him as they shared their meals or across the library as they each read their respective books. Each kiss shared between the grand walls of Summerworth beneath the portraits of former masters and mistresses and every time Hermann took his hand as they waltzed across the lovely grounds of the estate only brought further happiness into Newt’s existence. 

He knew, so entirely and confidently, that it was Hermann’s soul that his own was meant to tether to, and moreso with each passing day.

He twirled the burnt orange chestnut leaf in his fingers for a moment longer with a soft smile before finally setting about to write back Mako. 

He shuffled through the drawers of the desk before taking a few fresh sheets of parchment, and went to prepare his ink and pen. 

He’d hardly finished writing _October the twenty-first_ at the top of the page when he felt the presence of a gentle hand at the nape of his neck and a delicate kiss on the crown of his head. 

“Am I interrupting, my love?” said Hermann from beside him, and Newt turned to face the other man, looking up at his warm, kind eyes and handsome smile. 

“I daresay not,” said Newt, grinning back up at him."I hadn’t heard you enter."

“And on purpose, darling. I didn’t want to bother you.”

Newt couldn’t help but catch the quick twitch of his lover’s lips as he spoke. _Fuck,_ he looked positively _darling_ in the afternoon sun that shone through the windows

“Well, then. It seems as though you’ve entirely failed in that, then,” said Newt, very seriously, “for I’m feeling _particularly_ bothered at the moment.” Abandoning his letter, he pulled him in for a very well-received snog.

* * *

“You just said you _didn’t_ dance. You never said you were _terrible.”_

“The waltz has only just come into fashion, Newton, darling. There's hardly been time to perfect it.”

"That's _so_ 1812 of you."

"Oh, _now_ you're being ridic-"

“ _Ow!”_

“Right, sorry. Maybe if you’d stop trying to lead -”

“And if you think I’m going to follow _your_ lead after this display -”

“Might we revisit, again, whose idea this was?” 

“Beside the poi- _Ow!_ Again, my foot!”

Hermann looked only partially apologetic as they continued throughout the room clumsily. “Perhaps we might blame the music?”

“Oi!” piped up Karla from her position at the piano, though she didn’t stop playing. 

“I don’t think you’re going to find a ready excuse there,” said Newt. Hermann only gruffed in response.

As they gracelessly danced about the library, Vanessa watched them with a bemused smile. 

“Hermann, love,” called Vanessa. “You really ought to just let him lead. I daresay he’s got a bit more natural talent in this area.” 

Hermann shot her an offended look from across the room. “After all we’ve been through, you’re taking his side in this?” 

“Our alliance ends where dancing begins. Now focus.” 

Hermann gave a quiet groan, though he began to loosen up and follow Newt’s lead more, much to Newt’s delight. 

“See, doesn’t this go infinitely better when you’re not trying to put out my feet like a lit cigarette?” 

“Careful, love. There's still time.” 

* * *

Newt walked into their dimly lit bedroom, careful to not spill the two cups of tea he held precariously in his hands.

As he entered, Hermann closed the book he’d been reading, looking up to smile warmly at him from his spot in their bed. “I was beginning to wonder where you’d set off.”

“Just getting these, love,” said Newt, handing one of the teacups to him, which Hermann eagerly accepted.

Hermann’s eyes widened as he took his first taste. “ _Our_ cook made this?”

“What, is it bad?”

“Rather the opposite. It’s quite lovely.”

Newt grinned as Hermann took another sip. “Oh, good. Because I made it.”

Hermann’s eyes widened. “You made this?”

Newt gave a small laugh. “You say it like it’s shocking that I might know how to make tea.”

“Don’t take it as a slight,” said Hermann as he cupped the tea between his hands, sliding over in the bed so that Newt might join him. “I’m afraid to say that I don’t know how myself.”

“You can’t make a cup of tea?” said Newt incredulously as he readily joined his lover in the bed.

Hermann’s cheeks gently reddened as he took another sip. “I suppose the opportunity to learn never presented itself.”

"You're kidding!"

"Is this mocking now?"

"Quite the contrary. You are _adorable.”_

"Oh," said Hermann, his cheeks only blushing further, which Newt found helplessly charming, each and every time.

"Right," said Newt as he began prying the teacup from his lover's fingers. “And now I _definitely_ need to kiss you." 

Hermann’s gentle grip on the teacup tightened. “But I haven’t finished it yet.”

“Darling, it’ll be there when we’re finished.”

“But it’ll be cold -“

“You’ll be glad of it," said Newt, lips curving into a coy smile. 

Hermann almost looked as though he might argue for a moment, until Newt brushed his finger against the side of his cheeks. He felt the soft shudders that involuntarily pulsed through his lover's figure, and saw the return of the familiar hooded gaze that he'd lovingly memorized over the past month.

"Perhaps you're right," said Hermann, finally allowing Newt to pry the teacup from his hands and put it on the table beside them. 

"Aren't I always?" said Newt with a lazy grin as his lips found Hermann's, tasting faintly of orange and cinnamon and filling him with the warmth that only a good cup of tea might. 

* * *

“Might I ask you something?”

They sat with their backs against each other's on the floor of the greenhouse at present, each having been occupied with their own books until Newt’s sudden interruption. Butterflies floated lazily around them, undisturbed by the shift in the space’s energy. 

“Of course,” said Hermann after a moment’s silence. Newt could hear the closing of the other man’s book from behind him, and then the gentle _thump_ of it being set on the ground beside them.

“Do you remember, then, when I came to Summerworth with the Hansens?” said Newt, closing his own text while pushing his glasses back up his nose. 

“I do,” said Hermann slowly, shifting himself so that he might face him, a gesture that Newt returned. 

“Did you return early on purpose, then? I mean, had you intended to arrive when I was still here?”

Hermann scoffed for a moment, as if what Newt had just said was incredulous, which only made Newt grin wider. 

“Oh, I _knew_ it! You did, then!”

“I am absolutely confessing to _nothing_ of the sort -”

“Even after all that I said to you at Wincaster and your adamance about the likelihood of never seeing me again. You still made sure that we’d come across one another quickly again.” 

“Darling, please,” said Hermann, a clearly feigned disbelief across his face. “I had no reason to believe that the Hansens would accept my invitation and attend Summerworth at all, let alone that you would for certain be joining them. You overestimate my power over the happenings of day-to-day life far too greatly. And regardless, we simply had a change in our _own_ plans that brought us back sooner than intended. Nothing more.” 

“So if I went in there and asked Karla and Vanessa _right now_ what brought you back so early, then they wouldn’t tell an entirely different story, right?” 

He could see the faint outline of Hermann biting at the inside of his cheek while he considered his response. While he did so, on his shoulder appeared a dainty yellow butterfly with red-tipped wings. 

Hermann glanced down at the resting butterfly. “An _Anthocharis euphenoides,_ ” he started, “better known as the Provence orange tip. Native to the Iberian peninsula -”

“You’re ridiculous, you know,” said Newt with a laugh, “and ought to know that I’m not distracted that easily.” 

“Their young, which are sometimes referred to as _cannibal-caterpillars_ ,” continued Hermann, though his voice trailed off as he looked on at Newt with a raised brow. 

“Oh, now that’s _entirely_ not fair.” He _knew_ that weird science was his weakness.

Hermann’s only response was the slow smirk that began to creep up the corner of his lips. 

_“Fine,_ fine! I’ll drop it,” said Newt, exasperated, as Hermann’s face broke out into a satisfied grin. “Don’t think you’ve escaped this for good, but for now, there are clearly more important matters at hand.” 

“Excellent. As I was saying…”

* * *

As it always was, the dinner that evening was full of pleasant conversation, roaring laughter, wonderful food, and better wine, and when it came time for the four of them to retire to the terrace for more mingling, Newt was ready to go. 

However, unlike the previous nights that Newt had spent at Summerworth, this evening, Karla and Vanessa excused themselves to their bedroom early, much to his surprise. It was entirely unlike either of them to miss out on their after-dinner ritual, but he of course accepted it. After the ladies bid themselves their early goodnight, Hermann inquired if Newt would rather go for a moonlit ride than linger on the balcony by themselves, to which Newt agreed readily. 

At present, they had already ridden for a good distance in a direction that Newt hadn’t particularly explored yet, and were continuing to go farther into a meadow, at Hermann’s lead. 

“Are we even on your property still?” asked Newt. Though the slim moon offered them some light, his unfamiliarity with the area was making him a tad skeptical of the whole thing. Fortunately, however, he wasn’t having to do much of the leading, as his own horse, a sweet old flaxen Thoroughbred named Reckoner, seemed to recognize their path. 

“I can assure you we are,” said Hermann, glancing back at him from atop his own ebony Fresian stallion, an enormous retired war horse named Fury that he’d apparently acquired in recent years. His name fit him; the horse was mean as hell to everyone who came in close contact with it, nipping at fingers and kicking its muscular legs with intention. That was, he was mean to everyone but Hermann, whom he argued with little. At present, Fury’s long, thick mane was plaited into three intricate braids, which Newt had learned was the work of Hermann himself. 

Without warning, Hermann brought Fury from a leisurely trot to a much faster canter, and they set off further down the dimly lit meadow. 

Not one to be left behind, Reckoner quickened her gait, though as soon as Hermann could tell that they were catching up, he moved Fury to a gallop. 

Newt laughed aloud as he and Reckoner went faster as well, feeling the wind whip at his face as he leaned forward and dug his feet into his stirrups. 

“The hell are we going?” yelled Newt above the sound of the roaring wind and the horse’s rumbling footsteps.

“You’ll see in a moment,” called back Hermann as Fury began to turn right, towards the woods that bordered the field. Newt and Reckoner followed with no further arguments.

As they approached the edge of the forest, Fury fell back from his canter to a more comfortable trot. Rather than enter the woods, they simply followed the line of trees for another few minutes. Newt resisted all urges to try and figure out where they were heading, finally accepting that Hermann wasn’t likely to tell him until they got there.

Their path began to take them up a hill, and as they neared the top, Hermann slowed Fury down to a walk, and then to a full stop. Newt did the same. 

As he glanced around the dark scene, from the shadows his eyes began to make out the form of a structure still some feet away. Squinting his eyes to try and get a better look, he began to get the impression that it was a small circular pavilion, built in the same style as the Grecian temples with four columns protruding from its edges. 

The two of them dismounted, Hermann retrieving his cane from where it’d attached to his saddle, and led their horses nearer to the structure. 

“What’s this doing all the way out here, then?” asked Newt as they walked closer towards the imposing pavilion.

“I must admit that I myself do not have an answer for that,” said Hermann from beside him. “I only discovered it in my teenage years, and took some care to restore it when I inherited the estate, but its original purpose out in these woods is a loss to me. I would presume either for pleasure or decoration, but it’s so far from any settlements that I struggle to see the intention behind it.” 

“Fascinating,” said Newt, looking up at the Ionic columns that towered over him. “Is this what you wanted me to see, then? Because it’s lovely, I promise, but I don’t see why you couldn’t have done it in the daylight.”

“Patience, dear.”

After tethering their horses, they found themselves walking up the marble steps to the center of the pavilion. It all began to make significantly more sense to Newt as he reached the main platform, for his eyes were quickly drawn to the enormous brass telescope that sat in the center of the floor. 

“Whoa, _what!_ ” exclaimed Newt as he made a beeline for it, inspecting the fine instrument. It was a good seven feet across, pointed towards the southwest, and mounted on a sturdy mahogany tripod. It was far more impressive than any he’d ever seen before. 

“A fine work of craftsmanship, is it not?” asked Hermann from behind him. 

“That’s an understatement, love,” said Newt as he shot him a glance. “It’s fucking _incredible._ And it’s yours?” 

“Temporarily. It was loaned to me by Lady Sasha and only arrived the other morning.” 

Newt whistled. “She trusted you with _this_ beauty?”

“She may or may not have been under the impression that it was to be used in courting.”

“ _Hermann,_ ” started Newt softly, but his lover shushed him, instead making a move towards the telescope’s eyepiece. 

“Let me show you something first,” said Hermann as he began adjusting the optical tube, nudging it slightly up and left, and then fine-tuning it.

Newt racked his brain for the most romantic constellations one might find on an October night with a faint moon, trying to predict what Hermann was about to show him. Obviously, his strongest contenders were Andromeda and Perseus; hell, it doesn’t get much more romantic than being chained to a rock and having your lover swoop in to save the day with the slain head of Medusa. Oh, that _must_ be it. He quietly congratulated himself on solving it before he’d even begun. 

“There,” said Hermann after a moment, stepping away from the lens, allowing Newt to come over and peer through the eyepiece. 

As he looked through the telescope, he saw the magnified stars as they burned in the inky sky, far brighter than they were moments ago. Newt struggled for a moment to place what he was looking at, having prepared himself to seek out the familiar stars in the Andromeda and Perseus constellations and being rather surprised when he didn’t spot any of them. 

“Do you see it yet?” asked Hermann from behind him. 

“Not yet,” said Newt as he tried once more. He cleared his mind, instead looking at the stars with more unsuspecting eyes, searching for other bright romantics and their mysteries within their delicate white shapes. 

As he scanned the magnified sky, his eye caught sight of a red-hued star in the upper left corner, and then another, brighter one, above it. 

“Hold on a moment,” said Newt as he squinted harder into the lens, following the diagonal line of stars that had suddenly become far more legible with recognition. “That’s Menkar and Mira, and Baten Kaitos, and -”

“Now you’re getting it.” 

Newt pulled away from the lens, his face having broken out into a wide smile as he looked back at Hermann. “That’s Cetus, is it not?”

“Well done,” said Hermann with a nod, a small smile having taken over his lips. 

“You brought me out here to see the sea monster that tried to eat Andromeda?”

“Is it not what you were expecting?”

“Darling, it’s _infinitely_ more romantic than what I was expecting.” 

Hermann’s shy smile grew wider. “I’m glad to hear it.”

After taking one last look at the magnified constellation, Newt abandoned the telescope and found himself wrapping his arms around Hermann’s waist, nuzzling his head against the other man’s shoulder. Hermann relaxed into the touch, his spare hand gently resting on Newt’s embrace. 

Neither said a word for a moment, the silence only interrupted by the calls of the owls and other nocturnal lovers.

“Might we stay like this forever?” said Hermann softly.

“I fear our legs may tire before long,” said Newt into Hermann’s shoulder, and he felt the soft shake of his lover’s laugh against his cheeks. 

“You know what I meant.”

Newt pressed another kiss into Hermann’s neck. “Do you mean, then, might we stay this happy for the rest of our lives?”

“Rather that, yes,” said Hermann as he began to turn around, so that now he and Newt faced one another, their arms each wrapped around the other. 

“Well, then,” said Newt quietly as he took in the sight of his lover in the starlight. “If you’re asking if we might spend each day forward together, watching the stars and tending our gardens and getting lost in our butterflies, until we’re both old and grey?” 

“That’s right,” said Hermann as he gazed at Newt with an adoration reserved perfectly for him that made his heart flutter against his chest even now.

“And that we might never be sick of each other in that time, but rather stay happy and in love until the end of our stories?”

“Precisely, my darling.”

“Then, my love,” said Newt, pressing a kiss against his forehead, “I daresay I think we might.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The End._
> 
> Writing this story has been such a journey for me, beginning as a casual quarantine project to fill my time, to becoming the main object of all my thoughts and ideas and dreams and free time. I can only hope that you all have fallen in love with these Regency-era versions of our favorite characters like I have, which is to say, _quite a lot._ While it's honestly very satisfying to have come to the conclusion of this story, I can't say that I'm entirely ready to say goodbye to these guys quite yet, so perhaps keep your eyes (and subscription boxes) peeled out for a few short stories here and there surrounding these guys.
> 
> For anyone who's interested, I've compiled a private post on Tumblr [HERE](https://newtgeiszlur.tumblr.com/private/630176485037195264/tumblr_hy2gEKpzCov2VJTgp) with some of the resources/references that I used for this fic, including facecasts of the OC characters. I hope you find them interesting, or useful if you're writing a Regency-era story of your own! 
> 
> Additionally, if you liked the fic, I would love it if you'd leave a kudo or a comment or, dare I say, give it a [reblog on Tumblr!](https://newtgeiszlur.tumblr.com/post/630431682783281152/against-all-better-judgement-a-regency-era-love)
> 
> As always, I love each and every one of you, my generous readers, commenters, and kudo-ers. Thank you so much for all of your kind thoughts and time; you've no idea how much I love reading all of your lovely words and talking back-and-forth with you all! :) <3 Unil next time, my friends!


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